


Blood Sings to Blood

by Almadynis



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Adventure, Angst, Crossover, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almadynis/pseuds/Almadynis
Summary: At a tender age, little Harry Potter wishes to be rescued by an angel. How will Hogwarts respond to the adopted son of Jaenelle Angelline and Daemon Sadi? It will certainly hold true that the magical world won't be the same! Crossover with Black Jewels Trilogy. No slash. Rated 'M' for dark themes in first chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

** Blood Sings to Blood **

 

 

AN: I’m assuming that most readers are more familiar with the HP side of things, so please bear with me as I’m describing the BJT side a bit more than the HP.

AN2: I’m going to be trying to write this as part of NaNoWriMo2017 (meaning approximately 1667 words per day). But with work, I have no idea if I’ll actually succeed. I’ll do my best! +cue dramatic pose+

 

**Prologue: Freak**

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

Large things start from small things. Like a snowball, no bigger than your palm, rolling down a hill, gathering more snow as it travels, to create a large boulder wider than your shoulders. Or a tiny pebble being dropped into a pond to create ever-growing ripples outward, effecting even far away bits of debris.

 

In our story, it all started with a song…

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

Every Christmas and Easter the Dursley’s went to their local church. This particular Easter, Petunia was in a frantic search for a babysitter to watch her nephew. Their regular sitter had recently moved away and Mrs. Figg had gone to visit relatives. After calling all their neighbors to see if they could mind the boy and getting nowhere, Petunia gave up with a loud growl and slamming of a phone into its cradle. “We’ll have to bring the freak, Vernon. Everyone is either going to church or visiting family.”

 

Little Freak perked up in his cupboard as he listened intently. He would get to go to church? He had never been allowed inside before. Only good little boys and girls got to go inside. And no matter how hard he tried to be good, Freak never seemed to be good enough. He had to be content with staring transfixed at the exterior of the grand building and its beautiful stained-glass windows. But perhaps this year he had been good enough to go _inside_? Freak let out a tiny happy sound at the very thought.

 

Petunia jerked open the cupboard door and hauled Freak out into the hall as he blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness. She yanked his dirty over-sized shirt, tied around his waist with a length of rope, off quickly, mindless of any distress she may be causing to the tiny five-year-old. “Go wash up!” Freak reacted to the command with no hesitation. He knew better. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard her continue. “No hot water, freak, or else!”

 

Freak knew the rules of his relatives and in excited short order, less than five minutes even, he came out of the shower clean and pink from cold. He dried off just as quickly and darted back down to his aunt for more instructions. Despite it all, his heart was light and happy at the thought of actually being able to go _in_ the pretty church!

 

Petunia had a different set of clothes in her arms by this point and she proceeded to yank them onto the boy. Swift jerking movements straightened the articles, though did nothing to hide the many wrinkles. The clothes were still too big for him, but only slightly as she had gotten them from a neighbor who had a boy about the same size, and they were clean. She roughly tried to tame her nephew’s wild ebony hair with no avail. Finally, she huffed out an exasperated groan, “It’ll have to do.” Then she went off to give her adored spoiled son a look-over, determined that Dudley would look so much better than her freak of a nephew.

 

Freak peered down at his clothes in awe. He had on a bright white button long sleeve shirt, the sleeves rolled up several times so that he could see his fingers. A shiny black belt held up the two sizes too big black slacks, the cuffs also turned up so that he wouldn’t trip as he walked. The pants were still long enough to hide the fact that he wore no shoes. He had never looked so nice before! He hugged his middle in his happiness, shaking back and forth in place as he waited for more instructions.

 

He didn’t have to wait long. Vernon came down the stairs, grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me, boy.” He growled darkly. “Any _funny business_ , any at all, and you will get double chores and you won’t eat for a _week_! You won’t speak to anyone! You are going to pretend that you don’t exist! Do you hear me?!”

 

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Freak answered meekly, his smile gone.

 

“Good! Now get in the car!” Vernon seemed incapable of doing anything but shout. He was always shouting everything he said to Freak, no matter what it was.

 

Freak didn’t care though. He didn’t remember a life that was any different. This was the way his uncle always spoke to him. The way his aunt always acted around him. He wondered what would happen when he was finally able to go to school. Were freaks allowed to go to school? Would the other children treat him like Dudley did? Would the other adults yell at Freak too? He didn’t know.

 

He followed his uncle’s instructions very carefully. He hadn’t eaten today and was very hungry. He didn’t want to go another week without food. So, he was silent and hunched his shoulders to make himself as small as possible while he followed his relatives up the church steps at a respectable distance where people wouldn’t think he was with them. He took a seat at the far end of the very back row. He quite liked it, actually. It let him see all the colorful stained glass windows, which he now could see were of people with _wings_.

 

The one closest to him was his favorite. It was of a golden haired lady who smiled down at those seated. The smile was such that it seemed like she smiled just for Freak and made his heart lighten. The lady had a small boy by the hand. A boy that looked a lot like Freak: short dark hair with marks on his back and legs. Freak couldn’t see the boy’s eyes because the boy’s face was turned toward the lady, but Freak imagined that the boy was laughing. How could the boy be doing anything else when such a pretty lady smiled at him? Seemed to actually _care_ about the boy?

 

As Freak contemplated where the golden haired lady was taking the boy, he heard music start to play. It was just as pretty as the lady! So, he listened closely to the words.

 

_I was walkin’ home from school on a cold winter day._

_Took a shortcut through the woods and I lost my way._

_It was getting’ late, and I was scared, and alone._

_Then a kind old man took my hand and led me home._

_Mama couldn’t see him, oh but he was standing there._

_And I knew in my heart, he was the answer to my prayer._

_Oh, I believe there are angels among us._

_Sent down to us from somewhere up above._

_They come to you and me, in our darkest hour._

_To show us how to live. To teach us how to give._

_To guide us with a light of love._

Freak’s eyes were wide as he listened intently. The man singing said that _anyone_ could get an angel! Not just good children, but _anyone_! That meant that **_he_** could have an angel!

 

_They wear so many faces; show up in the strangest places._

_And grace us with their mercies in our time of need._

_Oh, I believe there are angels among us._

_Sent down to us from somewhere up above._

_They come to you and me, in our darkest hour._

_To show us how to live. To teach us how to give._

_To guide us with a light of love._

_To guide us with a light of love._

Freak knew he had missed some of the middle bits from shock at the idea that even freaks could have an angel. He didn’t quite know what an angel _was_ , but if they were anything like the pretty lady in the window, then they had to be _wonderful_! Would his angel treat him like Petunia treated Dudley? With hugs and kisses and tucking in at night? Oh, Freak hoped so.

 

The only bad part was the song said that he had to wait for ‘his darkest hour’, whatever that meant, before his angel would show up. He supposed that made sense. With so many people in the world, angels were sure to be super busy helping all the normal people! That was okay, Freak decided with a firm nod, he could wait. He _would_ wait…for however long he needed.

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

That was the only time Freak, who later learned that he had to answer to ‘Harry’ at school, ever got to go to church. He cherished the memory fiercely, often bringing it out at night when he was locked in his cupboard. He liked to remember the pretty lady’s smile as he drifted off to sleep. It was the only memory he had of someone smiling at him.

 

School hadn’t been much different at all. Dudley told everyone that he was really Freak. So the children stayed away from him. Or the boys in Dudley’s gang chased him around, hitting him whenever they were able to catch him. The teacher had called in Petunia and Vernon on the first day of kindergarten because he had insisted his name was ‘Freak’. The teacher got really angry, though at first she didn’t seem to be angry at _him_. That changed after her meeting with his aunt and uncle. Then the teacher, just like all the other adults, believed that he was a freak and treated him as such. No bathing for two weeks was the punishment for not answering to ‘Harry’. Freak learned the new rules as quickly as he could to avoid any food-related consequences.

 

The no bathing had made sure that any children who might have gone against Dudley and tried to be Freak’s friend were too disgusted by the smell to even get close.

 

The only good thing about school was learning. After the first test when he had done better than Dudley, Freak gained a couple more scars to remind him to hide what he knew. He made sure to know not only the right answers, but how much Dudley knew so that Freak could consistently score lower than his cousin at all times.

 

However, there was one place where Freak could escape Dudley and his gang. It was a magical land where anything could happen. The Library. Once Freak understood that as long as he was quiet and respectful of the books the minder wasn’t irritated by him coming in at recess, Freak spent every moment outside the classroom in the library.

 

The first thing he read about was angels. Anything and everything he could get his hands on. It took him several painstaking months to read all the books on the subject. Since he was forbidden from taking notes, for that meant he was trying to do better than Dudley who never partook in such plebian things, Freak worked hard to memorize everything he could. Reading things twice or more to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

 

When Freak lay awake in his cupboard at night, he would think about what he had read. He noticed that while Christianity had a lot of stuff on angels, they weren’t the only religion that had the beings. Angels were documented in all parts of the world, at lots of different points in history. Not all religions had angels though. So that meant, from what Freak could discern, that angels _had_ to be real, but not all religions were real. Therefore, he would discount all the religious stuff, for it would be too difficult and take too much time to figure out which religion was the true one, and just focus on the angels.

 

Angels came in all sorts of shapes, wings, weapons, and duties. Freak soaked up them all. And with angels came demons. Freak reasoned that those two were like night and day. You couldn’t have one without the other. He also noticed that demons were seen even more than angels! That had to mean that there were more demons. Which meant that the reason his angel hadn’t come gotten him yet was because she was _super_ busy! Because angels didn’t just help people at their darkest hour, angels also fought demons.

 

Freak hoped that his angel eventually had time, when she was done fighting for a little while and all the non-freaks were taken care of, to come rescue him. That he would one day see that pretty lady’s smile in reality instead of out of a window or in his memories.

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

Freak came home from school one day to find his uncle pissing drunk. Freak listened and, hearing nothing in the rest of the house, remembered it was Petunia’s Ladies Night Out. On those days, Dudley had permission to stay over at his best friend’s Piers Polkiss’, whose mother was usually too busy to go to the Ladies Night Out.

 

Which meant that Freak would be alone in the house with a drunk Vernon; something that had never happened before. Freak didn’t remember any rules that would apply in this situation except for the usual one: obey. With that in mind, he went ahead and did his usual daily chores of weeding, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, and making dinner. The meal finished and served on the table, Freak hesitantly moved to his lightly snoozing relative. “Uncle Vernon? There’s steak and eggs.”

 

At the mention of food, the man darted awake with a snort. Bleary eyes took a couple of seconds to focus on his nephew. When they did, Freak trembled at the absolute rage he saw there.

 

“YOU! I almost got sacked because of you!” Vernon screamed. His meaty paw darted out to grab the boy and shook him so hard that Freak had a difficult time focusing since nothing seemed to hold still. “It’s all your fault!” Another yell. The hand that wasn’t holding Freak went to unbuckle the belt. Freak shook, knowing what was coming. It had happened before.

 

Freak held his breath as much as he could, choking back pain-filled cries. The beating seemed to go on forever, until he could no longer hold himself back. He began to scream. “Don’t you dare boy! Shut your mouth!” Freak tried to obey, knowing it would only be worse if he didn’t, but he had lost count of how many times he had been struck with the buckle-end. He could feel blood running down his back. Knew that his shirt was in tatters. “Shut UP! Or I’ll give you something to scream about!” Freak’s teeth clacked together as he used all his willpower to do as bid… It wasn’t enough. Another three strokes and he once again began to scream. “That’s it freak! I’ve had enough of you!”

 

When the belt ceased its assault, Freak collapsed onto the floor in relief, his torso laying in his own blood, which he knew he’d have to clean up later. It was over… Wait. What was Uncle doing? Freak felt Vernon position him back onto his knees, though his chest was left on the floor, and his pants were ripped off his body. The **_pain_** , as if he were being ripped in two, was enough that his mind could no longer handle it and he blacked out.

 

His eyes blinked open to the darkness of his cupboard. His body ached in places he didn’t know were possible. His back was on fire, but nothing compared to his butt. There in the meager light filtering in from the slats, Freak silently cried. He had read lots of books. He knew what his uncle had done. Fat tears fell as he wrapped his arms around his knees. His heart _screamed_ as never before, yelling wordlessly into the dark expanse of his mind, though no sound escaped his lips. Wasn’t his angel supposed to save him? Would his angel even want to, now that his uncle had done… _that_?

 

Freak threw the thought out into the unworldly inky blackness that only his mind’s eye had ever seen. He screamed as loudly as he could, putting all of the pain, shame, and sorrow into the sound that he could never voice aloud. He screamed for long moments, a seemingly unending noise of agony. Finally, his mind quieted into a false calm where thought abandoned him.

 

It was in this drifting silence that he felt…something. Something in the black abyss that wasn’t him. Some _one_ maybe? Had his angel finally come? _*Please. I know you’re really busy with more important people…people who aren’t freaks…but I’ve waited so long. Please?*_ his mind called out into the darkness. He had the sense that the someone knew he was there, heard his heart-felt plea.

 

Long minutes and he was about to give up hope, that his angel was still too busy, when suddenly, between one breath and the next, there was a lady right there in front of him! She was beautiful! Short white-gold hair crowned her deep sapphire eyes staring at him. She had a small white spiral horn in the middle of her forehead. A fuzzy white fur covered her naked body, the only semblance of modesty, all the way down to two dainty hooves. Her blue-blue orbs roamed his body, seeing all his injuries, seeming to stare _into_ _him_ seeing things no one had ever bothered to look for before. Finally they met his eyes again, a decision made. _*Hello little one.*_

 

Freak felt tears pour down his cheeks in relief as his angel finally came for him. _*Are you going to take me away now?*_

 

_*Would you like me to?*_ that velvet-covered midnight voice asked him gently. He nodded so fast and vigorously it pulled his barely-healing back. She gave him a soft smile and held out her hand, careful of the black claws that tipped her fingers. _*Then I’ll take you to my home…*_ Her fingers brushed a sweat-coated wisp of hair away from his forehead. _*You don’t ever have to come back here again if you don’t want. I promise.*_

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***


	2. Missing

**Missing**

 

Mrs. Figg was concerned. She hadn’t seen little Harry in almost a month. She usually saw him weeding the flower bed, since the boy, even at such a young age, seemed to love to garden. His seventh birthday was coming up. It was prime time for weeding, watering, and trimming the grass. Why hadn’t she seen him?

 

Running her hands through the fur of one of her prized Kneazles, a habit gained from loving to hear them purr and it helped her think things through properly, she finally made a decision. Someone needed to check out where such an actively outdoor child could be. If he had been grounded for some bad behavior, then the punishment should have ended long before now. A month was too much time for anything a six-year-old could have possibly done!

 

Getting to her knees, she tossed green Floo powder into the fireplace and yelled precisely, “Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts!” She didn’t like Flooing of any variety, much preferring owl-post, but this could be an emergency.

 

After all, little boys didn’t just disappear for no reason!

 

“Arabella? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’s head asked congenially, eyes twinkling merrily even through the fire. Along with his job as Headmaster of Hogwarts for the last several decades, approaching on half a century, he also held the titles of Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards.  With so many proverbial hats to wear, the art of politics was one he had perfected and honed his skill with each interaction until it had become a habit.

 

Mrs. Figg blushed slightly at what she interpreted to be genuine pleasure in the Headmaster’s words and smile. She had always liked the man, even when she was younger, and some of her more esoteric fantasies involved him kissing her breathless before sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away to a comfortable bed for a night of heated lovemaking. They weren’t that far away in age after all! It could happen; even if, for the moment, it still only occurred in her dreams.

 

However, she had a different message to send, and a very concerning one at that. So, she mentally shook off the reminder of her one-sided ruminations, and frowned. “Albus,” she always addressed him as such, ever since she had officially graduated from the school and he gave her leave to do so; she hoped it would one day remind him that she was an adult and thus ready for any personal liaisons that he’d care to discuss. Or perhaps just grab her by her shoulders, push her against the nearest surface, and snog her senseless. “I’m worried about little Harry. I haven’t seen him in almost a month.”

 

Dumbledore’s seemingly expressive eyes dimmed slightly at the news, pondering the implications. “Have you been over to ask about the boy?”

 

“No. The Dursley’s don’t like it when I pop by. I was hoping you could come check on him?” That it would give her a chance to admire the man’s physical form, even covered up by robes, was not a factor of her request. At all. Of course not. Such would be considered improper.

 

Albus nodded slightly, “Arabella,” she shivered a bit at the inflection he always put in her name, “I’m sure it’s nothing.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. “However, it’ll be good exercise for me. Ease back and I’ll step through.”

 

She immediately pulled her head out of the fire, took one step to the left, and waited for the Headmaster to come through her fireplace. A shiver of eager anticipation went down her spine at the thought that the man would be in her house! In her living room!

 

With a small pulse of green flames, her desire was granted as the Supreme Mugwump appeared in the (outwardly) perfectly ordinary home of one Arabella Figg. He had on one of his everyday robes, a pale, pale blue with zooming golden dots dancing the polka, with a pointed wizard’s hat to match perched atop his esteemed head. His long beard was hanging, making one wonder if it might ever grow long enough to tuck into a belt or possibly trip over. In short, he was the epitome of a walking, talking Dursley nightmare. With a twinkling smile and wink to Arabella—who was quite proud at her ability to control herself at such a wonderful man _winking_ at _her_ and pondering what such an action could possibly mean for her future, both immediate and long-term—the elderly, yet still spry, old man made his way out of the squib’s home and across the street.

 

He didn’t voice any objection to Arabella following him, however based on her previous words about the family he also wasn’t surprised when she refrained from joining him. Thus he was alone when he gave a perfunctory knock on the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. He frowned slightly as he let his magic probe the blood wards surrounding the property and found them… Well, he wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. They were present; yet at the same time they were not nearly what they should have been.

 

So Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not in the best of possible moods, thinking as he was about what could have caused the blood wards to feel as they did, when Vernon Dursley opened the door. The incredibly large man saw who was present, his face went a shade of puce that was almost impressive, before he abruptly slammed the door; again without greeting nor letting the Headmaster into his home.

 

The Chancellor of the ICW frowned slightly at the reaction, but he had dealt with difficult people many times before and the expression smoothed away almost instantly. Instead, he calmly pulled out his wand and knocked a second time. When all he received was a shout of “Go away you freak!” through the door, Albus flicked his wand and the door unlocked and opened seemingly on its own, allowing him to step over the threshold easily. Another flick and the door closed.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Dursley. Mrs. Dursley. I’m here to inquire about your nephew.” Albus maintained his polite courtesy, even at the interesting shade of red-purple Vernon Dursley was working himself into.

 

“You need to leave now! Before I call the police!” Vernon shouted angrily, gesticulating with one imperious finger toward the door.

 

“Mr. Dursley, I’m sure the police don’t need to be bothered for such a simple matter.” The Supreme Mugwump had observed the knick-knacks on the coffee table, the pictures on the mantle, the seemingly random items strewn on a bookcase as soon as he’d entered and had drawn the correct conclusion about the couple’s societal priorities. He looked up to Petunia, “After all, what would your neighbors think if the police were to take such an interest in your home?” It was a threat-- though it certainly wouldn’t have sound like one with his cheery tone and twinkling eyes--and the couple took it as such.

 

“Now don’t you threaten me, you godless abomination!”

 

“There’s no need for name calling, Mr. Dursley. I simply wish to speak with your nephew. Is that such an extraordinary request?”

 

Petunia finally found it within herself to speak. Her tone was tight and angry. “He’s not here.”

 

Dumbledore stiffened slightly. Anyone who knew the man well – few though there were-- would have understood the warning in the normally energetic man’s sudden change of posture. “I’m sure I misheard you. Old age, you know. _Where_ is Harry Potter?”

 

“He’s not here!” she yelled at him.

 

All pretense of being a kind old man vanished, leaving the man that had vanquished a Dark Lord. “What happened?” His voice was cold and hard, his eyes sharp like ice as he pierced the pair with his gaze alone.

 

“You people just drop him on our doorstep with only a letter and expect us to take care of the freak? Well, we did take care of him and damn ungrateful freak he was too! Now that he finally vanished, we were grateful your kind finally took him back!” She pointed to the door. “Now get out of my home! I won’t stand for it! You freaks telling me how to run my home and probably putting ideas in my poor son’s head. I won’t stand it! Never again! Get OUT!”

 

Arabella Figg heard the soft ‘pop’ of displaced air as Dumbledore apparated into her living room. “Well?” she asked hopefully, hands tightening on the Kneazle in her lap, prompting a soft yowl and clawed protest.

 

Albus shook his head. “You were right, Arabella.” The delighted shiver down her spine at her name was instantly overshadowed by cold horrific dread as he continued. “I’m afraid that Harry Potter is missing.”

 

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***


	3. Letters

**Letters**

(Five Years Later…)

Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stared with barely concealed nervous anticipation as the automatic quill wrote the names and addresses of those students that would be attending the next school year. The quill went in year order, beginning with the seventh year students. Thus she had been anxiously waiting for one letter in particular for almost an hour as it ran through its enchantment. Though the content of each letter was dictated by the professor, headmaster, or deputy headmistress in her case, the envelope itself was generated by Hogwart's magic.

Finally, the names of each potential first year student and where they could be found began to be written. She watched, each passing second feeling like a small glimpse of eternity. One letter in particular demanded immediate attention and was long awaited, being unable to get the automatic quill to write an address before the student was old enough to attend the school. It was a safety measure put into place centuries ago, which had made it impossible to track down one Harry Potter before the child was eleven.

There was a knock on her office door and she gave a short, sharp, "Come in!"

Unsurprisingly, in walked the current headmaster, his eyes immediately finding the quill in front of her. "Minerva, I trust you are well."

"It will work, won't it Albus?" she asked quietly, needing the reassurance.

"Of course, Minerva. Harry's name has been on the books since his first bout of accidental magic. Just like all British magical children." He answered with a smile, but the observant could see a gleam of worry—years of failed tracking spells in the making—which relaxed as the automatic quill began to write one very special name. "See? What did I tell you?" However, as the quill kept penning the address, a frown began and deepened with each word.

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_Third Largest Bedroom on the Left in the Family Wing_

_SaDiablo Hall, Dhemlan_

_Kaeleer_

"Albus?" Minerva asked in dumbfounded confusion. She had never seen something even remotely like it; never heard of any city nor town called 'Dhemlan' nor country 'Kaeleer'. "What is this, Albus?" Though in her years of teaching she had seen a second form of address in a few, extremely isolated, cases, she had never seen the rest.

The silence was long enough she looked up at him from the envelope and was surprised at the equally puzzled expression she could see on his face. "I'm not sure. I've never heard of such a place." After holding the transfiguration instructor position for several decades, then becoming headmaster, and afterwards being elected the Supreme Mugwump (and later Chancellor) of the International Council of Wizards, he had heard of most locations around the world. These were a mystery. Neither were familiar, nor did either sound even vaguely recognized.

"Let's deliver it," he said abruptly. He motioned one of the school owls forward, spelling the creature with several locator charms one-handed as he held out the letter with the other. Only to be stymied as the owl just looked at the letter, looked back at him, back to the letter, back to him. At last the brown owl gave a very indignant hoot, shoved the envelope back with its beak, and picked up the next letter instead. "Well, that's interesting." Albus muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Minerva was gob smacked. Literally; her mouth was slightly open in surprise for a second before she spoke. "I've never seen an owl do that."

"Neither have I." His words shocked his deputy even more, if such was possible. Occasionally a student would have an accident and die before attending Hogwarts, but when that occurred the automatic quill skipped the student's name entirely and their name would be stricken through in the main ledger to indicate death.

Never had such a letter, fully addressed to a living student, been refused by an owl. Never in all the time he had been a professor or headmaster. Never in any historical accounts he could remember reading.

He thought for several long moments, wondering what he could do, when the twinkle came back into his eyes. "Fawkes!" he called out. With a flash of red-orange-yellow fire, a beautiful phoenix appeared in the air above his head, then glided down to his shoulder. Peering at him quizzically sideways, one of the most magically powerful creatures that existed, gave a short chirp as if asking him what he needed. "Would you deliver this letter please?" Albus asked gently. He knew it was odd, but it was the best idea he could come up with and his familiar had never disappointed him before.

The magical bird cocked its head in the opposite direction—rather like an owl could, Albus thought—before it looked at the letter still held in the Headmaster's hand. Another chirp as the phoenix took the envelope into its beak, shook out its wings, leaped into the air, and a final flash of flames signaled its departure.

Albus mentally bemoaned the sad fact that there was no spell that could be laid upon a phoenix. Thus while Fawkes could—hopefully!—deliver the letter, he couldn't spell her with even a single locator charm as he had the owl. He had no other choice but to wait for his return and the greatly anticipated reply.

***BJT—HP—BJT***

**Dhemlan Kaeleer**

Jaenelle Angelline watched in proud amusement as her adopted son played Stalk and Pounce with one of the kitties. He had seen her play the game with Kaelas and Jaal when he was younger. The impression that it was an expected activity of an "angel's son" stuck with him until he quickly discovered how much fun it was and proceeded to volunteer for the task. Even bringing up the game himself regularly, goading the cats into the task more often than not.

As with all cats, the Arcerians were predators and playing prey games was essential to their ability to survive in the wild. Now that her son was older, he was playing the game with Kaelas' son, Kaelaski. The kitten wasn't quite fully grown yet, but the seven-hundred-pound cat was working on it. Kaelas had finally stopped growing at the impressive weight of eight hundred pounds and still slept in Jaenelle's bed, even after she married. Just as Kaelaski now warmed little Haedrian's.

To Jaenelle, who had been playing Stalk and Pounce since she was seven years old, this was nothing new. That her son played the game gave her a great deal of pride, since she knew it wasn't considered normal by anyone who wasn't herself or kindred, the Blood that lived among the animal species. Even the rest of the family—other than her brother Lucivar, but Lucivar was always an exception to such societal rules—considered the game dangerous and an invitation for injuries.

Her current amusement was generated by watching her husband, who watched their son.

Looking at Daemon Sadi was never a hardship. His thick black hair was disheveled from his fingers running through it while he contemplated the scene of boy and cat bouncing and pouncing around the inner courtyard. His customary white silk shirt had the top two buttons undone, giving her a wonderfully teasing view of toned muscles in a lovely golden brown hue, as all of the long-lived races held. She caught a flash of his Red Birthright Jewel that hung on a gold chain around his neck every once in awhile, when he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"He's getting better," Daemon commented softly to her, eyes still on the game. His deep, cultured voice always had a sexual edge that would make anyone's pulse race. Though Jaenelle was the only one in all the realms that would see pleasure instead of pain if he was provoked. The man was far too beautiful to be called handsome, and his temper was very typical of his caste.

Since he was one of only two men in the entire history of the Blood to wear a Black Jewel, he was as lethal as he was beautiful. And she loved every inch of him without measure or restraint. Jaenelle was fully aware of what Daemon was capable of if provoked—some others even lived to tell stories of such events, earning him the nickname 'Sadist'—yet she never hesitated. Why would she? Even at his worst, he would never harm her.

Sometimes it scared her how much she was in control of this deadly male. She knew that, if she asked, he would let her kill him if she told him it was necessary, and he'd never ask why. Lucivar, Daemon's Eyrian half-brother, was the same way. Some of the other boyos in the First Circle were too, but most of them would still ask why before laying down their lives.

However, as powerful as Daemon was, he also knew when it was smart to yield. Which is why the newly-married man had never voiced a complaint about the eight-hundred-pound Arcerian cat that slept in his wife's bed. It had only taken a flexing of those considerable claws to silence any objection. Perhaps a rumbling growl as well. Which is why he found his wife's and son's seeming enjoyment of the task of playing with creatures that could literally bite them in two without any trouble absolutely baffling. Even knowing already that there was no situation where any kindred, Arcerian or not, would ever knowingly harm Jaenelle or Haedrian, Daemon was still baffled. But he couldn't argue with the obvious enjoyment both wife and son took from the game, so he stood silent vigilance, lest a stray claw open anything larger than a scratch.

Jaenelle herself watched her husband more than the game, finding his watchful wariness hilarious. She grinned as she drank her morning coffee, hiding the smile behind the mug.

She would never regret her decision to rescue little Haedrian, her adoptive son for the past five years. He had barely been seven when she had taken him from his abusive home, perfect timing for the Birthright Ceremony and to begin his official schooling. It had taken years to recondition the boy, and he still had occasions where he would react badly because of those 'before' memories.

The only reason Haedrian's blood relations were still alive at all was that it had taken Jaenelle's experience, precision, and immense power to be able to make the jump between Kaeleer and Haedrian's realm. A realm that was none of the three well-known realms their family was familiar with; either undiscovered or forgotten to time. Daemon, Lucivar, and their father Saetan didn't have the  _ability_  to get there to extract the payment for the debt owed. At the time, Jaenelle had been more focused on helping Haedrian than on the price. Simply healing him completely had been a drain on her reserves after Jumping so far with a passenger.

Then there had been other, more pressing, concerns. Only three months later she had used her full strength to Purge all three realms of the Blood tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah, then had taken over a year to fully heal from the backlash of power.

Now that Jaenelle wore Twilight's Dawn—a Jewel created specifically for her, which held the power of all the other Jewels yet only a thread of the darkest Black—she no longer had the ability to travel to Haedrian's original realm. Instead of being the strongest living Witch to ever exist, she chose to live out the remainder of her days as an extraordinary ordinary witch, no matter her other attributes. Thus, extracting payment from Haedrian's relatives was currently impossible.

In the years since his joining the SaDiablo family, Haedrian had flourished and grown. Taking to his lessons, the family, and the intricate Blood dance of Protocol with a vehement passion characteristic of his caste. Yes, she was very proud of her son.

Jaenelle's thoughts were jarred from their wanderings at the exhalation of a boy's shocked surprise. She bolted upright in her chair, her eyes jerking back to the garden and its occupants.

The white striped form of Kaelaski was standing in front of the eleven-year-old boy, fur fluffed menacingly as he showed his teeth in challenge to the newcomer. Haedrian had his twin knives—gifts from his Uncle Chaosti—in hand, body tense and ready. Daemon was three steps in front of her and one step to the right, giving her a clear view of the area, even while between the perceived threat and his wife. Daemon's form was subtle, frame loose; though a casual observer would see his hands in his pockets, leaning backward, as a posture unsuited to fighting. While Daemon's style of fighting was very different to his brother's, it was no less deadly.

In front of all of them was a bird that Jaenelle had never seen before. Her feathers were red, orange, and yellow in a pattern that reminded one of fire. Feathers near the ends of her tail and wings red, then shaded progressively lighter into a yellow-white at the lower chest, before returning to an orange-red in the area around her eyes and beak. Plumage drifting on the air currents like stray sparks adrift in smoke. Her eyes were a beautiful golden and in her clawed talon was…a letter?

"Mother?" Haedrian's hesitant voice called out. Jaenelle's heart still lurched slightly at the reminder; she had stopped being Mama the year her son first attended school. Stating that only babies called their mother such. She missed it, really. Many things had changed that first year of school. But those memories were to be dwelled upon at another time.

Her feet took the few steps forward to come up even with Kaelaski, Daemon shadowing her perfectly without interfering. "Hello," she greeted gently both verbally and on a broad mental communication thread; kindred preferred using their own form of language unique to each species, but would use the communication threads with her, if no one else.

As expected, it wasn't a few moments before they all heard an unknown female timbre within all their minds. *Bright morning.* The bird alighted on a nearby bench, folding itself regally. A slight incline of the head to indicate rank according to Protocol's intricate dance of who was dominant based on those present, caste, Jewel rank, and situation.

"I am Lady Jaenelle Angelline," she prompted. Most kindred had a difficult time speaking with humans, who had such strange concepts, terminology, and customs.

*My current human calls me Fawkes, but once I was known as Crystun Gayl.* Mentally, Jaenelle translated the Old Tongue phrase that had been made into a name. 'Fierce Joy for All Children' had probably been named as most kindred; a Black Widow spinning a tangled web of dreams and visions upon her birth. Often those webs amounted to nothing but fog, but occasionally they resulted in a unique name that would describe or guide that kindred throughout their life. Kaelaski's own name was also Old Tongue and translated to 'white storm'. (Referring to a particular kind of maelstrom that could appear without notice, devastate a Territory, and vanish again leaving devastation in its wake.)

They had done the same for Haedrian, as the poor boy hadn't known his own name when he had first come to them. His self-introduction of "Freak", once translated, had quite…explosive results. Though Jaenelle herself had spun the tangled web for Haedrian's name, as the most powerful Black Widow the Blood had ever seen, her results were considerably more specific. It was only Haedrian's own fierce determination that had changed the spelling slightly and kept his family name Angelline. He had wanted a tribute to each new parent, by his choice. Considering Jaenelle's own history with her relatives, it hadn't taken much arguing before she had given in to his demand. After all, who was she to judge?

"Well met, Lady Crystun." Jaenelle smiled at the bird. "May I ask what species of kindred are you? I've never seen one of your kind before."

The bird puffed up its feathers slightly, looking even more majestic. *I am a phoenix, created to remember.* There was implications in all kindred communication that made translation difficult, even uncomfortable at times. When Crystun said 'to remember', the flashes that came across all of their minds were different events occurring across countless centuries. The scenes too fast to get more than vague impressions of courts, wars, and children. Many, many children, and along with the images of children came the intense feeling of protectiveness. Her name served her well. *My human sent me to find a chick.* She bobbed her head toward Haedrian and Kaelaski, nudging a letter, which had gone unnoticed until that moment, forward with one delicate claw.

"I'll take that," Daemon practically purred. He tilted it to show his wife the name and address. He slit the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper; handing both to his Queen after several probes with Craft confirmed it was safe.

Jaenelle read the pages, frowning lightly at the phrasing. Many questions were rolling through her mind. At the forefront were the spinning implications of the complete absence of all adherence to Protocol. First, they had sent the letter to Haedrian, when it should have been sent to Daemon. Nor did they acknowledge Haedrian's parents at all, instead addressing Haedrian personally as if they had already been introduced and been permitted thusly. Next, they didn't mention coming for a tour of this supposed school, nor give a date for such a tour if it had been pre-arranged (as with most schools); he was too young to go somewhere completely unknown alone. And who would send their child to an unknown place, school or not, without knowing any of those involved? No instructors were named, nor credentials given. No references of the school.

All the terminology she didn't understand was absolutely secondary to the complete lack of Protocol. Every Blood child from the time of their Birthright Ceremony to the Offering studied Protocol; most going so far as to constantly review it afterward to remain ready no matter the occasion. It was essential to every aspect of Blood society! Without Protocol, the Blood would have gone extinct thousands of years ago, since every slight would have been met with immediate potentially lethal consequences.

She flipped to the second page and frowned further. No mention of pricing, nor where to obtain the sometimes-bizarre sounding items. Though a spark of interest went through her at books and authors she didn't recognize. She knew Saetan would love them too, if he didn't already own them. (Though she doubted it, as she had exhausted the Hall's family library in her late teens.) She certainly inherited her father's bibliophile nature. She could also ask Geoffrey, the Keep's Historian/Librarian of Ebon Askavi—a Guardian so old that even Saetan, himself fifty thousand years in age, was as a child in comparison.

When she finished reading, she passed the pages to her husband, who quickly scanned them. She looked at the kindred, "Lady Crystun, please have some refreshment while you wait." The bird dipped her head as Beale, the extremely efficient Red Jeweled butler of SaDiablo Hall brought out a tray with three bowls: water, fruit, and scraps of meat. Apparently with the entrance of an unknown species of kindred the Hall's cook had erred on the side of caution.

Jaenelle and Daemon spoke mind-to-mind on a private communication thread while their son looked between them with slight annoyance. The boy disliked being left out of a discussion. Daemon's mental tap brought a footman with a stationary lapdesk within minutes.

"Thank you, Holt." Daemon inclined his head to the man as he penned a short reply, folded the return, and used Craft to melt the wax to drip and seal the missive. Pressing the official SaDiablo seal into the still soft wax completed the letter. He then offered the lapdesk to his wife. "Beale, please inform Mrs. Beale that there may be two more joining us for dinner."

Though his tone was calm, something in Daemon's eyes must have alerted the other male to the possible danger. "Of course, Prince." The butler inclined his head and disappeared to tell the cook about the change of plans.

***BJT—HP—BJT***

That afternoon, before the others were due to arrive, an incredibly gifted Black Widow spun a web of dreams and visions and saw more than anyone else ever could. Her sapphire eyes drew together in a frown at the knowledge she gained and the questions that went unanswered. She fluffed her barely shoulder length blonde hair as she sat back and thought of what had already been and what may come.

Hours later, several decisions had been made she knew the males weren't going to enjoy.

***BJT—HP—BJT***

_Lady McGonagall,_

_As no owl is currently available to send this missive, I hope that you have no objections to phoenix delivery._

_The individual you know as Harry Potter was adopted over five years ago._

_Prince Haedrian Angelline will not be allowed to attend your school. The absence of Protocol in your letter does not lend towards a future relationship. Your lack of propriety by sending the missive directly to Prince Angelline is unacceptable. All future correspondence should be addressed to Daemon Sadi, the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan._

_Also, Lady Crystun Gayl, kindred phoenix, wishes to remind you she is female._

_Lady Angelline_

Minerva blinked as she set the letter to one side, perplexed at all the strange verbiage, to look at the second, which was amazingly even shorter than the first.

_Lady McGonagall,_

_No._

_Prince Sadi_

_Warlord Prince of Dhemlan_

Minerva's mouth tightened at the one word reply. "Albus!" she called out. She looked at the phoenix, who was calmly regarding her with an almost queenly air. Minerva idly wondered if she was thinking in royal terms due to the recent correspondence (and subsequent salutations), or if there was something else present. However, as soon as the headmaster came through her fireplace, she pushed the thought to the side. There were more pressing matters to deal with. "What do you make of this?" she perfunctorily shoved the two letters into the man's hands.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts read them both before looking up at his phoenix with a twinkle in his eyes. "Lady Crystun?" he addressed, humor filling his words. Yet he paused with slight surprise at the immediate acknowledging regal incline of her head the phoenix gave him as if in answer.

"Warlord Prince? Protocol?" Minerva was very efficiently not-yelling in her annoyed confusion. "Who are these people, Albus? Why are they answering Harry's letter? Do you think they are the ones that adopted him?" she demanded. "Why didn't we hear about his adoption?"

A magical adoption was permanent and required the special parchment for magical contracts; not to mention legal representatives. Each magical adoption was recorded in several locations because of the different aspects of magical society that were affected by each adoption. Gringotts and the Ministry being the main affected due to legal status. Blood adoptions were even more significant, requiring intense, powerful magic. It required special dispensation from the Ministry because it was technically a ritual; all rituals were highly documented, as they were always far-reaching potential. Both good and bad potential as well.

Albus neatly sidestepped the questions, though internally he was also wondering the same thing. "As both are addressed to you, may I suggest you answer them?" His eyes twinkled at the emotion he saw in his deputy. He hadn't seen her this riled since the last time Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup. Though if she knew he was amused at her, instead of his normal general amusement at everything, he had no doubt she would hex him.

He looked at his—female—phoenix. "Are you tired from the travel?" A shake of a beak. "Then perhaps you could deliver Minerva's reply promptly?" A nod. Along with the distinct impression of the bird's own amusement at the exchange. Smug amusement even. What did a phoenix have to be smug about this situation? Oh well, a thought to ponder later.

"Oh no you don't, Albus! You are dealing with this! You are the politician, so you deal with replying to this…this…" the deputy headmistress didn't seem able to come up with a suitable word to describe what she was thinking. Instead, she proceeded to raid her secret stash of Ogden's Finest. Some upstarts downgrading her impeccable manners. Bad mouthing her school. The nerve!

_To Lady Angelline and Prince Sadi,_

_Allow me to introduce myself: Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_I do apologize for any disrespect you may have taken from the previous letter. Hogwarts has been addressing entrance letters this way for over one thousand years and you are the first to remark on any perceived lack therein that I am aware._

_I am afraid that I am rather confused by some of the terminology you used in your reply. It would be much easier to answer the many questions I'm sure each of us have generated in a more personal setting. As Headmaster of the school in which young Harry's parents attended, I am more than qualified and happy to answer any queries made concerning my proud establishment. There is no finer school in the world in which Harry could receive his own education._

_Perhaps tomorrow in time for afternoon tea?_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Order of Merlin, First Class_

_Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, ICW_

* * *

_Lord Dumbledore,_

_Your presence is requested at SaDiablo Hall._

_Prince Sadi_

_Warlord Prince of Dhemlan_

"How intriguing," Albus commented as he finished the extremely short missive. Compared to the previous from the same mysterious Sadi, it was practically a novel, but still just as bare of any details or significance.

It did give him what he wanted though—invitation to meet these people that answered young Harry's letters. Harry's guardians perhaps? Still unknown since the boy had only been addressed in passing with no familial ties listed. It must have been overlooked, what with the apparent aversion this Sadi and Angelline had taken to the customary entrance letter.

_To Lady Angelline and Prince Sadi,_

_Perhaps a more impersonal meeting location? I do apologize but I am as unfamiliar with the city of Dhemlan as I am unfamiliar with the country of Kaeleer. Madame Puddifoot's or the Hogshead in Hogsmeade Village are both delightful where one can find excellent fare._

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

_Lord Dumbledore,_

_Your presence is required at SaDiablo Hall._

_Lady Crystun has graciously consented to stand as your escort._

_Prince Sadi_

_Warlord Prince of Dhemlan_

"Guess that settles it then." Albus muttered to himself, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "I'll inform Minerva and Severus about tomorrow's plans."

Lady Crystun had been patiently waiting for her human to announce he was ready to go. However, when she heard his comment—definitely  _not_  what she had been expecting—the elegant bird hung her head. If she had been human, the term "facepalm" would have applied to her reaction. Instead, all she could do was trill in mournful frustration at her human's retreating back. Yes, she had acquiesced to escorting him—he was her human after all—but she didn't think he'd miss the rather commanding Protocol phrasing.

It wasn't as if it was subtle!

***BJT—HP—BJT***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to extreme length, I may not update again for a few days.
> 
> I have thought of doing a series of one-shots that would be snippets of Harry/Haedrian growing up with the SaDiablo family. Does this interest anyone? If so, how would you like them? As add-ons to chapters (flashbacks)? In a different story? Or as separate chapters posted to this story?
> 
> Please review, they feed the plotbunnies!


	4. Meetings

**Meetings**

 

The next day Albus found himself in his best robes; a beautiful sunset sky with passing clouds, charmed to move as he walked. (Though if anyone other than Albus were to be asked, they would confess it was more along the lines of a hot pink and burnt-orange background with white polka dots trying to dance.)

 

He had spent several long hours yesterday at the Ministry, pouring through the magical archives. Looking for young Harry’s adoption in every category he could think of, and several more he had referenced. In all cases, there were only thirteen adoptions the year Harry disappeared, ten magical and three blood. None of whom were Harry, involved a family named Angelline, nor did they reference a boy of Harry’s age or description.

 

Which meant Albus still had some cards up his sleeve he could play…

 

Minerva was in her customary no-nonsense attire: black professor robes with her hair in a tight chignon. Severus as well was in his own typical black robes (prone to billowing as he walked—several betting pools were between the youngest Potions Master charming them or Snape spending hours practicing the ‘billow-walk’) and stern glare.

 

When Dumbledore was certain that all three were ready to go—meaning that extra portkeys, both word-activated national and international, charmed to only be removed by their own hand, were in all of their pockets in various hidden (and a few obvious so that anyone spotting them would stop looking after finding the ‘hidden’ portkeys) places —he raised his voice. “Fawkes, if you would?”

 

The phoenix gave an annoyed huff and practically glared at him from her perch, not moving one inch at his form of address. Now that her human knew her name, he should be using it!

 

“Sorry,” Albus’ eyes twinkled, but it seemed more habitual than genuine. “Lady Crystun, if you would please?”

 

Lady Gayl kept up her glare for another second to indicate the depth of her anger, then inclined her head and glided over to his shoulder. She flashed out of Hogwarts. One of the most magical beings in existence, dragging along three full grown adults wasn’t an issue. Though she did have a moment to wish it _was_ a detriment, just so that her human wouldn’t have yet another lesson to be added to his list. It was already going to be an interesting visit before her human had decided on the extra personages. Knowing that the list began with her human learning basic manners, Lady Crystun was very precise in her destination; appearing exactly on the landing web nearest to SaDiablo Hall.

 

As soon as the rush of phoenix travel dissipated, and all had gotten their feet under them, the humans had a new difficulty: keeping their expressions neutral. Only two managed. McGonagall’s mouth dropped open slightly, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh…” it was only a breath of sound, but held such longing that it might as well have been a shout of pleasure. To Minerva’s eyes, she was staring at one of her childhood country’s manors.

 

Beautiful, huge, and full of large stones as high as someone’s waist or bigger. Though it looked as if the portcullis had been renovated into a simple wrought-iron gate sometime in the last few hundred years. Several tall spires, with ‘L’ shaped sections as well as the usual ‘T’ wings. It may have been called a hall, but it looked more like some of the Scottish castles from McGonagall’s youth. It was very clear from the ivy climbing some of the towers that SaDiablo Hall had been standing for much longer than a few hundred years. Though also well maintained going by the gardens and the rest of the well-kept walks and estate.

 

There was also an almost palpable… _something_ …in the surrounding air. Minerva felt as if every breath filled her lungs with that unnamable weight. As heavy as the gigantic stones, yet she also instinctively knew in her bones that it would only become cutting if provoked.

 

It was comforting to her. She felt at home here and her shoulders relaxed minutely, much more willing to meet these unknowns who answered little Harry’s letters. Whoever they were, they couldn’t be so bad if they made their home in such a place.

 

Severus Snape stood a bit to the side and behind his coworker, thus she didn’t see the minute widening of his eyes before his neutral expression won out from years of practice. The youngest Potions Master in the history of Hogwarts had been through a great deal in his relatively short lifespan. Seeing the looming dark castle of a dwelling before him brought to mind all sorts of bad memories from the war. He had felt things similar before, but never so terrible. Voldemort himself didn’t feel as…as…as _dark_ as this. And this was supposedly a residence?! Whoever lived here must be even worse than the Dark Lord himself! They needed to grab the Potter brat and leave as soon as possible. They may not even survive long enough to do that much…

 

Snape mentally shivered at the thought, but didn’t hesitate to walk forward. He had sworn to protect Lily’s son and he would do exactly that. No child deserved to grow up surrounded by such _evil_ , let alone Lily’s son.

 

Behind both of his employees, Albus Dumbledore stood stoically before the grand enormity of SaDiablo Hall. He let the weight of the building run through his mind, practically a taste upon his tongue. His memories were stirred at what he sensed, but let none of it show. His experiences had given him the knowledge and wisdom to understand certain things, certain differences that most wouldn’t contemplate.

 

At the forefront of his mind was the absolute truth that SaDiablo Hall was nowhere near anywhere Albus had visited in his lifetime. There would be no mistaking this feeling in the air. A feeling that would pervade and invade its surroundings. He had felt things similar, but nothing to this degree, this intensity. He had no idea where they were. Not a clue of country or origin.

 

Which meant their emergency portkeys may not work.

 

With that in his mind, he cheerfully turned back to the matter at hand. “Well? Shall we go introduce ourselves?” His levity was feigned of course, but no one need know that save himself. Fawkes—Lady Crystun—chirped from his shoulder, her own form of encouragement. He applauded his Transfiguration Professor’s bravery as he watched her step forward first. Gryffindors lead the way indeed!

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

Before Minerva could even raise her hand to knock, the front door was opened. It revealed a reasonably tall, decently-muscled male with dark skin, gold eyes and a stern expression. He wore what Albus thought could be a traditional butler’s uniform, but what drew his eye the most was a low-hanging chain that held a ruby. The way it was presented, it was obvious there was some significance to the ruby, chain, placement, or something. Perhaps a family heirloom? Perhaps from the butler’s own family or from the family he served.

 

“Good afternoon,” the butler said. “How may I be of service?” There was no expression on his face or in his tone as he spoke, even as his phrasing reinforced Albus’ assumption of the other’s profession.

 

“Hello!” Dumbledore said genially, a little louder than he had intended. It was this place…it brought back memories best left alone. “We’ve an appointment with Prince Sadi for afternoon tea.”

 

As the butler moved slightly, letting them into the foyer, his hand turned from its vertical position of palm on the door to a horizontal position with palm facing up. It seemed between one eyeblink and the next, the upright palm was holding a small silver tray. An empty silver tray. “Your card?” the butler asked gently.

 

Snape shook his head once in the negative, not saying a word. Albus was shocked he hadn’t thought of bringing a calling card. It was definitely something that the muggles did. But it had been so long since he had needed one—who didn’t recognize him these days?!—that it had completely slipped his mind. “I am sorry, my good man, but I neglected to bring one.”

 

“I have one,” Minerva said. The other two males looked at her, Snape with shock and Dumbledore a small hint of pride upon her remembering. Minerva reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a slightly yellowed card. In beautiful stylized calligraphy was a rather large ‘M’ with an embossed crest around the letter. Below the crest was ‘Minerva’, perfectly centered. The card was simple, but beautiful.

 

Albus noted it was a house crest and was slightly shamed to think that it had been some time since he even remembered that McGonagall was a House at all. A minor House, of course, but still a House.

 

The butler accepted the card onto his tray even as his eyes went to the two unknown males. “Your names?” he prompted.

 

“I’m Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and this is Professor Severus Snape, who teaches Potions.”

 

The butler waited a beat, obviously expecting him to say more, but didn’t wait very long for the information before he asked, “Territory?”

 

“We’re from Hogwarts.” Albus said, as if that explained everything. “We are expected,” he reiterated.

 

The man tipped his head a small amount as if acknowledging he spoke, but not deeply enough to signify deference. “I’ll inquire if the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan is available to receive you.”

 

“Thank you,” Minerva cut in before Albus could say anything else. She had listened to him talk while her eyes had been on the butler and noticed a very small nuance. She couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was, but something about their presence—or Albus’ words—was irritating the butler (perhaps both).

 

She watched as the man went to the back of the foyer—which was more of a large hall than a small entrance room—knocked on a door and went inside. It wasn’t long before he came back out and he looked at them. “If you would follow me, please.” Like little ducklings, they followed the man to the back room he had just exited. Just before the headmaster—who somehow got in front of her in the last six seconds from foyer to back room—could cross the threshold, the butler positioned his body to block the door, raised his voice and announced, “Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape of Hogwarts in the Territory of Hogwarts.”

 

“Thank you, Beale,” a deep, cultured voice replied instantly. “Show them in, please.”

 

The butler, presumably Beale, stepped fully aside and they all trooped into the room. They barely registered Beale closing the door behind them as they all stared.

 

The room was shaped like a reversed ‘L’. The long side was an informal sitting room, complete with tables, chairs, bookcases, and a leather sofa large enough for a full-grown man to sleep on. The short side of the room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filling the back wall, red velvet covering the side walls, and the massive black veneered desk with three chairs in front of it for visitors.

 

From behind the desk rose a man with very distinctive coloring. Thick black hair, golden eyes, and light brown skin. He moved so gracefully that it was easy to believe he wasn’t quite human. The fact that he was the most beautiful man any of them had ever seen helped the inhuman impression.

 

Minerva registered his beauty and grace, blushed from the tips of her ears to the top of her chest and hastily had to look away to gather herself, and the tatters of her propriety; suddenly finding the red velvet covered wall _extremely_ interesting.

 

Severus blanched from his usual never-comes-out-of-the-dungeon pale into an even whiter shade. As the man spoke it was as if warm syrup dripped over Snape’s skin, producing a very unwelcome arousal. In his life Snape had seen some men (though more women) that had seemed to exude sexual heat just by breathing. (As a species Veela had their innate _allure_ ; though they spent years learning control.)

 

However, he’d _never_ before met _anyone_ that could seduce a practically  asexual man just by getting up and walking around a desk with an introduction he barely heard!

 

“Lady McGonagall.” A pause. “Prince Snape. Lord Dumbledore.” Another pause. “I’m Daemon Sadi.”

 

The Headmaster of Hogwarts for over half a century froze in his tracks at the sight of the man. Albus hadn’t felt this kind of instant sexual attraction since…since…since Gellert. He felt that punch to his gut that Gellert had always given him and his mind froze as well as his feet. His mind almost absently registered the same dark feeling exuding off this man in waves as he had felt from the Hall itself, permeating the walls, floor, and the very air.

 

Then the man, this ‘Daemon Sadi’ with which he had been corresponding, looked between the three of them…and frowned. Oh, it wasn’t a large frown. But it was enough for Albus to notice, for his heart to clench in fear that he had done something to make this beautiful man disappointed in him. That instant emotion, that it was _his_ fault Sadi wasn’t happy, was enough to jerk Albus back into rationality. Or at least a semblance of rationality.

 

“If you would like to settle yourselves until my lady arrives.” Daemon suggested mildly, gesturing to the formal chairs in front of the black desk.

 

There was only a slight hesitation before Minerva sank into the one on the left while Albus took the one in the middle. Snape chose instead to keep standing, as far away from Sadi as he could manage while still being in the room and seemingly part (or _apart_ ) of any conversation. It was obvious he didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit and Dumbledore didn’t blame him. It was only Albus’ extensive practice in restraining himself after his former lover became an enemy that let him seem outwardly relaxed.

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

*Jaenelle?* Daemon called out to his wife on a psychic communication thread, frowning at the triad. He’d only been expecting one and he’d expected him yesterday, but now that they were here, what he was sensing didn’t make sense. All three of their psychic scents were… _off_ somehow.

 

*Daemon? I can feel your unease. What’s wrong?*

 

*I’m not sure. I’d like you to meet them.*

A flash of amusement. She knew that he trusted her judgement much more than his own, despite the centuries of difference in their ages. He wasn’t the only one that held that opinion either. *Are you in the sitting room?*

 

*My office study.*

 

*Give me five minutes.*

He cut off the psychic connection, then had another thought and threw a spear thread—male to male—to his butler. *Beale, I have a feeling this meeting is going to go a bit…* he stopped, not sure how to voice the uneasiness he felt as he looked at this group.

 

*I’ve already informed Mrs. Beale and asked her to prepare a tray.*

*Thank you, Beale.* It wasn’t that Daemon was afraid of his cook. He wore the Black and Mrs. Beale wore the Yellow. No, it was just that she was so very…large. Technically she worked for him. But that only seemed to matter when she conveniently remembered the fact. Or something needed his attention. In which case, he would be dusted off and deposited in front of whatever was preventing Mrs. Beale from her duties. Since Daemon also like puttering about in the kitchen upon occasion, he’d finally come to an agreement with Mrs. Beale: she wouldn’t raise a fuss about his experiments messing up her kitchen and he built a small kitchen onto the Hall in which to perform his experiments.

 

Even before Jaenelle could appear, Beale had efficiently opened the study door half a finger’s width, a tray of small sandwiches with a pot of freshly brewed coffee appeared on Daemon’s blackwood desk in front of the visitors, and the door closed again soundlessly. Yes, the team of Beale and Mrs. Beale were well worth what he paid them, even with Mrs. Beale’s quirks about ‘her’ kitchen.

 

“Won’t young Harry be joining us as well?” The older male, a Warlord by the feel of him, asked almost pleasantly.

 

Daemon refocused on the group, eyes narrowing on him. He knew that the mild irritation he was exuding wasn’t much, but the overall effect of such in his formal study, was about the same as when his father, the High Lord of Hell, frowned. Smart people tensed and shifted away. “ _Haedrian_ ,” he stressed the name, reminding the Warlord of his son’s adoption, “is, as you mentioned, young. Hence, he has lessons to attend.”

 

Not to mention that allowing his eleven-year-old son to meet an unknown possible enemy was beyond stupid. What kind of Warlord Prince did these people take him for? Had they done no research at all?

 

“Oh?” The woman perked up and smiled. The mention of education, her profession, was obviously enough to curb her unease in his presence. “Usually lessons are postponed during the summer. How does H—he like them?” She had almost said ‘Harry’, but managed to correct herself adequately enough Daemon didn’t comment.

 

“General formal lessons are suspended during summer, that’s true. However, there is so much for a child to know that we thought extra lessons were necessary.” He gave her his paternal lazy half-grin. “And it gets him out from under foot for a few hours every day.” Little Haedrian had never been the energetic, exuberant handful that was his nephew Daemonar. Indeed, Haedrian was more often quiet and watchful of their every move than to get into mischief. The boy had overanalyzed everything he saw or heard, listening for some evidence of unwanted behavior or speech, for months before they figured out what he was doing.

 

Minerva’s smile grew more genuine and nodded her understanding. “What does he study during the summer months?”

 

“Oooooh,” he drawled the word as he leaned back on the blackwood desk, “dancing, drawing, music, Craft, Protocol, weapons… Really anything that he, his mother, uncle, or grandfather manage to talk me into including this week.” If they bothered to ask him at all before teaching Haedrian!

 

“Weapons?” Albus’ tone was sharp. “He’s a—”

 

“Warlord Prince,” Daemon interrupted him instantly, his tone as cold as ice. Though he noticed that he had enough control over his emotions that ice wasn’t forming on the furniture. Yet. “Who wears Birthright Blood Opal. As a Warlord Prince myself, I know what training Haedrian needs to perform his duties when he is old enough to be accepted into a Court.” He paused, letting his glare thaw slightly. “Besides, Haedrian quite likes working with his uncles.”

 

Albus slowly nodded, wary of this man’s mood swings. Prince Sadi was beyond dangerous, his magic as dark as any Albus had felt since Gellert or Tom Riddle. Darker! He reached out and poured himself some of the tea…coffee in a teapot?...as he gave himself time to think before speaking rashly again. This entire place threw him off balance. It was too important; he had to get this right. He had to calm down and think! “One of the letters mentioned that young Harry had been adopted…?” He left the statement with a lilt at the end, turning it into a question.

 

Daemon smirked internally at the blatant bid for more information.  The man certainly wasn’t subtle. As opposed to the younger male, who had yet to speak more than a couple words since entering and barely made eye contact. Daemon was tempted not to give anything else until they met Jaenelle, but it would be good if these people were aware of Haedrian’s new situation. They were too interested in the boy; knowing how protected the eleven-year-old was would be beneficial. “Almost five years ago, my wife answered a plea thrown into the Darkness and returned with a boy barely alive.”

 

McGonagall blanched, her entire being sitting ramrod straight in a split second as she absorbed the words. Snape’s face tightened around the edges in response.

 

Daemon kept his tone conversational and an iron fist around his emotions that wanted to flare from the memories. “It took her two days to heal him.” His golden eyes were merciless as he imparted the knowledge. A mere sentence to describe what took the best Healer in all the realms, in the entire history of the Blood, _two days_ to fix. Singing to the healing webs until her voice was raw. Holding his Self safe until it was able to again inhabit the shell. In those long hours, Saetan had commented once how much it reminded him of Lucivar’s healing and how much he had wished to never see such damage ever again. It hadn’t been pleasant for any of them. “Even longer to _completely_ heal.”

 

“Another month and that little boy managed to work his way into all of our hearts.” A new voice took up the story, drawing attention to the newcomer. The three turned to look, startled; having not heard the door open nor her footsteps.

 

She was thin, though not unhealthily so; thin enough for a man to wince at the thought of bedding her. Her golden-blonde hair was styled shaggy and long enough to brush her shoulders. She was not pretty in the traditional sense of the word. Unusual was perhaps a better description. Her best feature by far were her piercing blue-blue eyes. “We adopted him the week before his Birthright Ceremony.”

 

Albus knew that this woman would be able to convey much with just a glance of those eyes. He also noticed that Daemon Sadi didn’t care about any of it…and that the sexual tension inherent to the man Albus had noticed before, was normal. Now, with this woman in the room, the _hunger_ in Sadi’s eyes blazed into a hot fire and Albus had the very inappropriate thought of wanting to watch… He shook himself free of the idea before it could fully form.

 

She stepped further into the room, but raised an eyebrow at Daemon. *Whatever you’re thinking of doing, we don’t have time.*

 

*You’re wearing one of my shirts,* his mental voice purred back at her.

 

She blushed, knowing what the image of her wearing one of his shirts did to him. *It’s Papa’s shirt.* She corrected, knowing that the difference between Daemon’s and Saetan’s shirts was only the size. She hadn’t been thinking of that when he had called her to come meet the newcomers. She’d gotten side-tracked from her lazy lounging in the parlor catching up on her reading—the newest ‘Tracker and Shadow’ novel had come out the month before—by his call and hadn’t changed.

 

Daemon walked the few steps towards her—putting himself between the unknown party and his wife—and as soon as he was close enough, he put a hand up to lightly caress her from shoulder to wrist. His eyes never leaving hers as he did so.

 

He didn’t do more than that, but the tension was enough that if Albus hadn’t already been sitting, his knees would have no longer been able to support him. Albus knew he should look away, give the couple a few seconds of privacy. But he couldn’t. Albus had felt that kind of hunger. That heat. It had been decades, but he remembered. And his heart longed for what he could no longer have.

 

Daemon’s fingers finally glided down far enough to encircle her wrist, which he raised to kiss the back of her hand. Golden eyes locked with blue. “Hello, wife,” his voice purred through the room.

 

“Mother Night…” she breathed, her entire body shivering slightly in a way that had nothing to do with cold, before she got ahold of herself. Her eyes turned into a glare. “Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

 

He grinned at her unapologetically, teeth flashing in the candlelight. “Shall I introduce you?”

 

The woman focused her full attention back on the room, and its occupants, and Albus felt those blue eyes change. Saw as they went from playfully challenging her husband and lover to piercing examination. His own eyes narrowed as he saw them change further from blue-on-blue to a deep sapphire that seemed to become a doorway. A corner of Albus’ mind acknowledged the threat the woman became; something feral that he couldn’t name, but knew instantly he never wanted to encounter.

 

“This is the Warlord Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, from the Territory of Hogwarts. His Deputy Headmistress, Queen Minerva McGonagall. And Prince Severus Snape.” Daemon said.

 

“What?” Minerva’s eyes were wide in shock at the introduction. She wasn’t a queen! Warlord? How did he know that Severus was a Prince? The man had barely acknowledged the bloodline _once_ that she could recall!

 

“Lord Dumbledore, Lady McGonagall, Prince Snape, this is my wife, the Lady Jaenelle Angelline.” Daemon finished his introduction without pause.

 

“What?!”

 

However, it was at this point that things went a little sideways…

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

He didn’t know when his knees buckled. Didn’t feel the arms that suddenly griped him tight, holding him upright. His black eyes were tied to sapphire, registering nothing else.

 

Snape had turned as soon as he heard the woman speak. She was pretty, if in a plain way. Golden hair flowing down and around her beautiful sapphire-blue eyes that reminded him of midnight pools and summer storms. Eyes that looked at him and saw him. Saw _through_ him. Saw his soul.

 

Severus felt a tug in his heart that he hadn’t felt since Lily.

 

Suddenly, everything in him shifted, rearranged, fell into place, and the new form was centered around this woman. He breathed in deeply and could practically _taste_ the dark essence that filled his senses. It was dark and it was dangerous. But not evil. No. It was the calm in a storm. A place he knew he could relax, knowing something bigger, with more teeth and claws, would protect him.

 

_Safe…_

_Home…_

 

Her eyes saw so much of him. He knew. Knew what she wanted. What she needed. So he pulled down every Occlumency barrier he had, yanking them from where they had been moored for decades. Bared the core of himself—every triumph, every fault, every discovery, every shortcoming, every mistake, every delight, every regret, every…

 

He showed her _everything_ …

 

…and waited for her judgement.

 

He saw as her eyes changed from that deep sapphire into a more normal blue; felt the shift in the air when she smiled in sad understanding. His heart clenched, aching from that smile aimed at him. “Please…” he whispered to her, the one word a bare breath of sound. He wasn’t quite sure what he was pleading for, but knew that it was important. Vital, in fact.

 

“Sit, Prince.” She commanded, though not unkindly. Her gentle hands directing him to the left and he followed willingly. If she had directed him over a boiling cauldron of lava, he would have gone just as readily. “Drink,” she pressed a cup of something into his hand.

 

He wheezed as the most potent version of firewhiskey he had ever experienced exploded into his lungs. He gulped air afterward…and felt a little more grounded. Even as his mind fuzzed slightly at the edges, his emotions settled and cleared. He drank again when the cup was refilled. After three, he was finally able to look around the room at the others—most of whom were appearing either disgruntled or concerned. Two unknown males he’d never seen entering were standing just behind the golden haired siren of his soul. “What… What happened?” he asked.

 

Her smile had many emotions swimming inside it, most of which he wasn’t sure he understood or could identify. “I don’t think it’s something to discuss right now. You’ve had quite a shock. Beale and Holt,” she gestured to the two men behind her; the pair looking at him with more concern than he was comfortable with, “are going to help you to a guest room so you can get some rest.”

 

Snape thought she saw he was about to protest because her face suddenly reminded him of Poppy Pomfrey when faced with recalcitrant patients. “You need rest, Prince. So, either you can rest on your own, or I’ll _make_ you rest.”

 

He knew a threat when he heard one. “I’ll rest.”

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

*Jaenelle, what happened?* Daemon sent on a tight psychic communication thread. *I’ve never seen a male react like that before.* He’d had to jump forward to catch the man when his knees went weak at just _looking_ at his queen. Daemon himself had a strong reaction to seeing Jaenelle when they first met, but nothing like this.

 

Jaenelle mentally sighed, sadness permeating the link. *He’s had a queen before. Perhaps not a queen, but the equivalent to a First Circle bond… And it was shattered. Not just broken, Daemon, but shattered. This was no easy bond to be broken and remade, as most are. Nor even the more tightly-knit bonds created between a Court that all belong to the same Queen. It was so close that when it was destroyed, it destroyed a piece of his Self along with it.*

 

She paused. *A bond that deep…*

 

He could hear the mental tears trying to fall, though outwardly her face didn’t change as she gently coaxed the Prince to drink several mouthfuls of a Gravedigger. Twilight’s Dawn could still create a Gravedigger with a bigger kick than the strongest of Khardeen’s brews. Daemon didn’t envy the man—Severus Snape—for being forced to drink it. Sadi had learned his lesson on that particular concoction years ago on one very memorable trip that he still didn’t remember in its entirety. (They still didn’t know how that little fish had gotten stuck between the laces of Lucivar’s boot.)

 

*A bond that deep shattered his crystal chalice?* Daemon finished her thought. *It destroyed his mind?*

 

*No, but it was close.* Jaenelle knew that a bond like what she had seen in Severus’ mind was very similar to the bond Daemon held with her. When she eventually died, a piece of Daemon’s mind, heart, and soul would die with her. He wouldn’t walk into the Twisted Kingdom from his grief…but it would be a near thing. *What is worse is that _he_ was the cause of the shattering, so the only one to blame was himself.*

 

Daemon winced internally, understanding the full ramifications instantly. Princes—though not even close to the violence inherent to every breath in a Warlord Prince’s nature—were savage in defending what was theirs. Any threat was analyzed and dealt with as soon as it was identified. If the cause was himself? The Prince would have attacked himself, just as he would any threat, with everything he had. Daemon was amazed that the Prince still breathed. It showed either a strong will to survive, or a strong will to punish oneself. *How long?* he asked gently.

 

*Almost thirteen years.* Jaenelle answered. *It’s part of why his reaction to seeing me was so violent. If his bond with Lily had still been in place, he would have been able to turn away from me. He’d have been the equivalent to Seventh or Eighth Circle. However, with that bond shattered and nothing had taken its place in all this time, his mind latched on to the first thing that was compatible.*

 

*Nothing took its place?* Daemon asked, confused. Psychic connections were part and parcel of being Blood. Hell’s fire, there was a Queen sitting right there! Or was this part of that _oddness_ he sensed from them?

 

Jaenelle read his mind easily. *That’s part of it: the strange psychic scent you noted that they all have. None of them have _any_ Court bonds. They’ve _never_ had Court bonds.*

 

*What?* Court service wasn’t required after an individual had finished the full training in Protocol and made the Offering to the Darkness, but it was still part of that training. Every member of the Blood, from the lightest-Jeweled witch to the darkest-Jeweled Warlord Prince, were required to complete the full Protocol training. At least part of that training was in the service of a Court to have the experience and education of how to interact with those that ruled. Though in what capacity and duration of that service was variable to the power and caste one held, it was still a required part of a Blood’s education.

 

“I’ve called Papa. He’ll be here by morning.” Jaenelle surveyed the other occupants of the room as Beale and Holt finally were able to half-carry Severus out of the study. “There’s a lot for us to talk about.”

 

***BJT—HP—BJT***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to extreme length, won't update again for a bit.  
> Please leave a comment. They feed the muse!
> 
> ((Some bits are taken directly from Anne Bishop's works, but only as descriptions to get the right 'feel' of things. Nope, I'm not making any money off of this.))


	5. Diagon Alley part 1

One step into Diagon Alley—what a strange name for an alley! Did these wizards know that ‘diagonally’ was a direction? Or did they just not care that all the landens would be confused? And the landen-raised…or those like him, who wasn’t landen or landen raised, but had no idea these things existed… Okay, too many possibilities so the wizards must not care—and little Haedrian’s eyes zoomed in to a winking shop window about halfway down the cobblestone road. (According to his father, he and his mother shared the unique ability to pinpoint a bookseller in a matter of seconds, even if the books were initially hidden down back-alleys, behind crowds of people, or by the newness of a location. The Arcerian version of laughter going on above his head confirmed that supposition.) Unbidden from his brain, the boy’s feet were already taking him straight to the large windows showcasing a variety of new editions.

 

Haedrian gazed in open-mouthed wonder at the large bookshop. “Flourish and Blotts” was the main bookseller in Diagon Alley. He knew he had stopped in the entrance to the shop, his eyes twinkling with stars at all the _lovely_ books that he hadn’t read…but he didn’t care! It was only when he was tapped on the shoulder so that someone could come in themselves did Haedrian jump into action. He heard the cat-laughter from Kaelaski air-walking, invisible, above him again, but paid no attention.

 

He had the whole of a _new_ (well, new to him) bookstore to explore and his father’s purse to empty! (As if he actually could.)

 

To an outsider, they would have seen as an extremely well-dressed boy of approximately eleven years of age, actually _skipped_ through Flourish and Blotts, flitting from one section to another with seeming no pattern whatsoever. To a more astute observer, they would have noticed that the boy initially plopped down in the middle of an aisle with no care for those around him now being forced to go around him or over him (if someone happened to want to go by, he just leaned far to one side without looking up from his book). He would stay with a single book _“An Introduction to the Wizarding World, Twelfth Edition, by Genis Prime”_ for over an hour as he read, constantly muttering under his breath.

 

Then, when he got to the end of his speed-reading, the boy’s head popped up and a slow grin blossomed across his features. A caricature artist might have put blazing fireworks into his eyes if they saw his expression. The book went to the floor and the boy began to move…and he didn’t stop moving for almost three hours.

 

By the time he went up to the front desk to pay, the ‘firstie’ had three copies of every textbook in the Hogwarts curriculum. There was also an additional pile of books for Potions, Herbology, Magical Creatures, Magical Theory, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Modern Runes, Spellcrafting, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts. The list went on. In a smaller pile were four different books on Divination and “ _Wizarding Travel Methods by Travers E. Relm_ ”. It seemed the only subject the boy had missed was Astronomy.

 

“Umm…sir? Do you have enough Galleons to pay for this?” the young clerk, his nametag said Mike, asked hesitantly. Sure, the boy was dressed like one of the wealthiest purebloods the clerk had ever seen—even better material than the Malfoys!—but all those stacks of books meant _thousands_ of galleons!

 

The boy nodded happily (so fast that the clerk was afraid his head would just bobble right off and roll onto the floor). “Did you hear that?” Mike asked in confusion, having heard an odd hissing coming from somewhere above his head that sounded sort of like laughter. If a Kneazle could laugh, that is.

 

The head of unruly black hair—the only indication of an unkempt nature on the child—shook as shoulders shrugged noncommittally. His smile didn’t dim either. And so, the clerk obediently began to ring up the piles. It took fifty-three minutes to calculate it all. “That will be fifteen thousand, nine hundred twenty-one Galleons, thirteen Sickles, and four Knuts.” Mike had been smart enough to organize the piles of books into stacks of reasonable height as he wrote down each title and its price while a junior assistant tied brown cord around the stacks.

 

“Hey! What are you doing?” the young boy asked indignantly. His green eyes wide with horror as he looked at the junior assistant in the process of shrinking the bundles.

 

“Sir, these are much too unwieldy for you to handle. Jason is applying a Shrinking Charm and Weightless Charm so that you can take them home in your pockets.” Mike reassured.

 

“But I don’t know how to _un_ -Shrink them!”

 

“Your parents will—” he stopped mid-sentence at the intense glare sent his way.

 

“Not everyone has the luxury of wizard parents.” The boy’s tone was suddenly a bit lower in timbre, almost menacing. If an eleven-year-old could be menacing. “Please simply tie them as you were and I will do the rest.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Mike agreed immediately. It was less work for them anyway.

 

The dark head counted out papers as he waited for his piles to get processed. A couple minutes and there was a ‘ _chuff’_ sound (again above his head?!), resulting in the boy muttering a low, “Thanks, I forgot.” before exchanging the papers for coins.

 

Mike was happy to see they were properly gold and silver. However, when he looked closer, he scowled. Thinking this had all been a scam or prank, he growled, “What are you trying to pull, boy?” Without waiting for a reply, he held up one of the faux-coins. “This ain’t a Galleon! I don’t think this is funny. Where are your parents?” Green eyes blazed with anger at the accusation and Mike was startled to notice that a glaze of frost was starting to radiate outward from where the boy’s hands were clenching the counter.

 

The woman next in line, who had been watching this entire encounter with no small amount of amusement, spoke up, trying to diffuse the situation. “Perhaps he simply hasn’t visited Gringotts yet to exchange his currency. You can tell by his accent that he isn’t from Britain, Mr. Bottis. Is that correct?” She had given a stern glare to Mike that had shut his mouth quickly before turning an understanding smile to the child.

 

“Yes, that’s right. Would you be so kind as to indicate which building is the wizarding equivalent of a bank?”

 

“Of course. Mr. Bottis will of course hold your order until you come back,” another glare at the clerk, who winced and nodded his reluctant agreement. “This way and you see that large building at the end of the alley? That’s Gringotts. They’ll be able to help you with any of your banking needs or questions. Have you dealt with goblins before?” She waited for the shake of a head as a response before continuing. “Goblins are very particular about their manners, so be sure to be very polite when interacting with them.”

 

“Thank you, Lady.” The boy even gave a small inclination of his head that was probably meant to be a bow.

 

The woman blushed slightly at the honorific. “I’m always happy to help a fellow bibliophile. Good luck.”

 

Green eyes pierced the clerks’. “I _will_ be back for my books.” Then he walked off.

 

It was a threat, pure and simple. Michael Bottis acknowledged that fact easily. And since the frost on his counter was still in the process of melting, he thought he’d err on the side of caution and have the order ready for his return instead of the usual procedure of assuming the customer wasn’t returning and replacing the order back in the appropriate shelves.

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

Haedrian read the inscription engraved in the silver entrance doors of Gringotts Bank and felt the hooks of Craft latch onto his mind.

 

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed._

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So, if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

He was momentarily surprised—for this was the first bit of Craft he had felt since he had entered the so-called Wizarding World—but then he grinned. He certainly hadn’t finished his training in the Hourglass Coven yet, but he knew enough to feel the intention of the spell and track it back. The words were the trigger, then once it latched on the spell read the intention of the person before doing more. Haedrian knew plenty about his grandmother’s (seemingly ‘harmless’) abilities to know how nasty the many, many layers of Craft could do if it deemed the person judged as a ‘Thief’.

 

Since Haedrian had never been a thief (even when accused), he opened the door with no fear of what he would find on the other side. The tendrils of Craft ‘tasted’ his mind one last time before letting go. He grinned to himself, happy that his Hourglass training had progressed so far as to have this unscheduled confirmation of his abilities.

 

Each of the tall counters—obviously that high to induce a sense of smallness, belittlement, and inferiority—was sitting a creature Haedrian had never seen before. Perhaps a mix of dragon and some of the shorter-lived races? It had the standard humanoid appearance of most of the sentient non-kindred races, but also a slight wrinkled-scaled appearance on their skin, as well as long pointed ears with a tuft of hair from the ears and on their head. How interesting!

 

Haedrian had been warned by the woman in the bookshop, but his parents had also taught him well. So, when he approached the nearest bank teller that was free, he ignored the fact that the teller was waaay up there and looked the goblin in the eyes. Haedrian could taste his psychic scent and addressed him accordingly. “Lord Guardrock, I am Prince Haedrian Angelline. I’ve come to exchange my currency.”

 

The goblin had initially sneered at the wizarding human boy that had come to his desk, like he had sneered at thousands before, but that sneer froze as he heard the greeting. Then his mind ran in a whirl as he analyzed the words. Humans loved royalty and liked to think of themselves that way. Most of them, whether actually royal or not, presented themselves with an air of entitlement. As if they were better than goblins! For the most part, all goblins took this as a human trait to be scorned; noted and ignored. As long as they had money, and didn’t violate the Laws, they would all be treated the same.

 

However, _never_ in Guardrock’s memory had a wizard addressed a _goblin_ as royalty. Yet, that _was_ Guardrock’s appropriate title! A title that the little wizard before him shouldn’t have known… Unless this was no ordinary little wizard. One of the goblin-spells on the front doors of Gringotts read whoever walked beneath them for true-identity. So Guardrock brought up the scan that the door had made just a few seconds previous and read the notation.

 

_Caste - Name:                                              Warlord Prince – Haedrian Angelline_

_Birthright Jewel – Jewel of Rank:        Blood Opal – (not yet eligible)_

_Alternate names (if applicable):         Heir Apparent – Harrison James Potter_

_Mother (birth):                                            Lady – Lily Anne Potter, nee-Evans_

_Mother (adopted):                                     Queen/Black Widow/Healer – Jaenelle Angelline_

_Father (birth):                                             Lord – James Charlus Potter_

_Father (adopted):                                      Warlord Prince – Saetan Daemon SaDiablo II_

_Realm-Territory-District:                       Kaeleer-Dhemlan-SaDiablo Hall_

 

Guardrock’s black eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the boy, who faced him without a twitch, and slowly nodded. He was quite proud of himself for not reacting to the information. Especially since he wanted to jump up and down and shout that it wasn’t possible! No one from any other realm had visited Gringotts, any Gringotts the realm over, in over ten thousand years! Yet, he also knew that the goblin-spells on the doors had been in place for even longer. The goblin-spells had been Crafted back when the Realms had still traded between themselves. Back before the Thousand Year War.

 

His voice didn’t shake in the least as he intoned, “You will need to speak to Director Ragnok.” The little not-wizard nodded acceptance and quietly followed the goblin down a side corridor and into an office. Guardrock left the boy in the middle of the room to gawk as he hastily went to get the British Gringotts Director.

 

Haedrian was confused by the goblin’s behavior. He had been sure that he had said everything right! Grandpapa had drilled him for months on all the different ways to interact with others given different situations, including rank, Jewel strength, and…and… _everything_! He had worked really hard to get them all right!

 

He felt a reassuring nuzzle on the top of his head from his friend-slash-protector Kaelaski. _*Settle down, Kitten.*_ Given that the Arcerian cat was approaching six hundred pounds, Haedrian was actually pushed forward, stumbling a little, at the little pat. Still he looked up at the invisible cat and smiled his thanks. Arcerians were natural predators that were adept at using stealth via sight-shields to their advantage. Kaelaski was the second son of Kaelas, who had grown up in SaDiablo Hall with Jaenelle. So Kaelaski felt a lot like a cousin. (Kaelas’ first son had ‘adopted’ a human girl too and they both lived with Aunt Karla in Glacia.) Haedrian and Kaelaski had been inseparable since Haedrian had the audacity to climb on top of the cat’s back and Kaelaski, still a kitten himself, hadn’t yet been dexterous enough nor had the Craft training to pull the boy off.

 

Haedrian pulled his thoughts out of the past and looked around the office space. It looked a lot like his father’s study in the way that there was a large desk with two chairs in front of it off to one side. On the other side of the room was a low table and a small chaise. In his father’s study, the two partitions would indicate different kinds of dealings: family and official. That wasn’t necessarily the case with goblins. “Always assume you know nothing when approaching something new,” he muttered under his breath one of his mother’s favorite sayings.

 

Jaenelle Angelline was… Well, she was different. He loved her dearly for all her differences. The kindred called her “The Lady”. Jaenelle was the Living Myth. Dreams Made Flesh. Witch. She had been being dreamed for thousands upon thousands of years, even longer than Grandpapa Saetan had been alive. Great-Aunt Draca said that there had been, and would be, many, many Witches over the millennia…but there would never be another like Jaenelle.

 

Even among the unique, Jaenelle Angelline was extraordinary.

 

One of the things that Jaenelle did, and made her part of who she was, was govern over the kindred races. All of the kindred Territories were hers and she toured those Territories twice each year to make sure they were doing well. For the most part, the kindred had been ruling themselves for eons, thus Jaenelle didn’t need to do much actual governing, but it was still a good thing to remind all the non-kindred that those Territories were protected. (As if anyone was insane enough to think that after Jaenelle had used her full strength to Purge all three realms of those tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah!)

 

As Haedrian was Jaenelle’s child, he had been introduced to all the kindred on one of those tours shortly after he was adopted. Jaenelle was “The Lady”, but he… Well, he’d had years to get used to the idea of being called “The Pup” by all the Scelties, “The Kitten” by the cats, “The Cub” by the wolves, “The Colt” by the horses, etc. It was just one more part of his life. A life he loved very much. Jaenelle knew more kindred races than any other alive (except for maybe Lorn and Draca). She had been moving around and interacting with most of them since she was seven, so she was able to teach her new son how to interact with new races as well. Just as she had.

 

However, that wasn’t the extent of Haedrian’s training in dealing with others. Grandpapa Saetan was Jaenelle’s adopted father, and had been the High Lord of Hell for over fifty thousand years. He knew Protocol perfectly. He had been teaching Haedrian as soon as the boy emerged from his Birthright Ceremony tightly holding an Opal Jewel.

 

Daemon Sadi, Saetan’s son and husband to Jaenelle, had become the family patriarch when Saetan stepped back from the living races, and taken over the SaDiablo family’s finances, holdings, and governance in the last few years. He had been teaching Haedrian all about money, business, and finance.

 

Uncle Lucivar Yaslana, Saetan’s youngest son and brother to both Daemon and Jaenelle (yes, their family was convoluted, but it was theirs and he loved them all), was an Eyrian warrior. He had taken on Haedrian’s weapons training. He’d just shown up at the Hall one day with his son Daemonar in tow, thrust an Eyrian wooden practice stick at Haedrian, and started to walk both boys through the forms. After an hour, he’d announced that he’d be back in two days and to better practice or Haedrian would be sorry, then left. Daemon and Jaenelle had generously (while hiding laughter) helped the boy with the forms so that when his uncle had, as promised, shown up again to drill him, he hadn’t been reprimanded. (Daemonar apparently hadn’t practiced though and Haedrian learned the price of not drilling as told was a dunk in the nearest fountain. Since Haedrian had been terrified of being beaten like his previous ‘family’ had used as discipline; he was greatly appreciative, if initially confused, of the demonstration so that he’d know what to expect.)

 

Lucivar was married to Marian, who was a hearthwitch. When she was around, she snuck Haedrian nut cakes and pointed out to him little spells that could help him keep things organized and clean.

 

Daemonar learned some of really interesting things from the wolf pups that lived in their Eyrie, which Daemonar in turn showed to Haedrian. They had gotten into a lot of trouble for some of them… Playing with the different shields that one winter had been a doozy…

 

One of Haedrian’s favorite teachers was his Grandmama Tersa. Tersa had been broken on a spear, taking from her most of her power and had shattered her mind. But Tersa was Tersa. A natural Black Widow and one of the most promising of her generation. She saw the world differently than her sisters. And even when Tersa was broken, she was still able to see those differences. While Tersa walked the border of the Twisted Kingdom—that mental Realm the landens called madness—she was still able to impart wisdom and knowledge to her grandson. She knew that he wouldn’t push her to be more sane than she was, allowing her to just be herself, and that he would listen. That easy acceptance, with no expectation, was more than she got from most. In return, she showed him roads and paths that only those like herself walked. She always cautioned him, of course, but she still pointed out the markers. Just in case.

 

Haedrian knew that official training started once the Birthright Ceremony was completed and continued until the Offering to the Darkness granted one’s Jewel of Rank. Thus, he still had years of training to go in all aspects of his education. He wasn’t even halfway done yet!

 

One day, after his majority, Haedrian would be the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan (well, maybe…his Jewel wasn’t _nearly_ as dark as Papa’s!) and the Warlord Prince of the kindred Territories (at least the liaison between the kindred and the humans). He had a looooong way to go before he was ready for either title.

 

The door to the office/study opened, pulling Haedrian once more out of his contemplations. He turned to see an older goblin than Guardrock step through the doorway, close the door, amble over to the desk, and settle himself. The goblin did all that without saying anything. It was only after his long-fingered hands were in his lap as he leaned back in his chair to look at Haedrian did he speak. “Long has it been since a Blood-male walked these halls. Let alone a Warlord Prince.”

 

Haedrian blinked in confusion. He hadn’t been under the impression that Blood had been part of wizarding society at all, ever. Dumblebeard had certainly been confused when it had come up. Yet Grandpapa and Papa had been teaching him how to do this for years. He could do this. Right? Right…? Though having Papa here with him was suddenly a much better idea than him talking and potentially messing up! What was he supposed to say?!

 

He felt another cat-nuzzle on the top of his head, much gentler this time. It was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. He appreciated it. He took a deep breath as he settled himself in one of the chairs. _When in doubt of what to say, either say nothing or state the obvious._ “That’s not true.” The goblin frowned and tensed at the apparent accusation, but Haedrian kept going, “One of the wizards that contacted my family about enrolling into Hogwarts was a Warlord Prince. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he must do business here.”

 

The goblin relaxed again, back to his previous posture. “Hmmm… I misspoke. Not since the Thousand Years War has a _Jeweled_ Blood-male walked these halls.”

 

This Haedrian agreed with, since he hadn’t met a Jeweled wizard yet. Though Blood implied Jewels, it wasn’t necessarily the same thing. One could be a Blood-male and not be strong enough to wear Jewels. However, if one wore Jewels, they were always Blood. He nodded. His head cocked to one side curiously, “The Headmaster didn’t seem like he was at all familiar with Blood society. Had your race of kindred remembered?”

 

Director Ragnok gave a single bark of laughter, his humor showing a large number of very sharp teeth. “Goblins are kindred, Prince, but I doubt in the way you mean. Goblins diverged from the Great Dragon eons ago. We have retained much of what wizard-kind has lost.”

 

“Great Dragon…” Haedrian tasted the phrase and asked, “Do you mean Lorn? Or Draca?” Though he didn’t know it, Haedrian was treated to a sight not seen in many a lifetime by any wizard: a goblin choking on air in surprise. “Are you alright?” he asked with concern.

 

It took a few seconds, but Ragnok got control of himself quickly. One didn’t rise to the level of Director without the ability to control oneself. Even if that control temporarily waxed under extreme duress. “The Great Mother Dragon that birthed all Blood races: Draca.” He paused, “Not many who live know that name.”

 

Haedrian shrugged. “She’s the Seneschal of the Keep. I see her every time I go. I don’t see Lorn as much because he’s so big. I think he gets bored and sleeps a lot.”

 

By now, Director Ragnok understood the boy wasn’t lying. It wasn’t an error in the spells. This was truly a Jeweled Blood-male. And he had been trained. Spoke of people more powerful than any wizard or goblin, ever. Spoke of visiting the very creators of Magic-kind. Knew words and names that had been lost to all but very few. Names that no goblin would tell a wizard. Words no goblin would ever explain. (All of this on top of which was the boy’s status as the Boy-Who-Lived and Heir Apparent to an Ancient and Noble House!)

 

Which meant this boy was very, very, _very_ dangerous.

 

The connections this boy held were enough to wipe out the entire race of goblins from the face of everything. Carefully he phrased his first question. “For what purpose brought you to Gringotts?”

 

Haedrian knew he was missing a lot. He could feel it. Like when he was watching Papa in one of his meetings as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and something was said. Haedrian could tell more was being said than the actual words, but it took Papa explaining later before he understood. Sometimes not even then. He sent a mental poke at Kaelaski, _*Do you know what he’s talking about?*_

_*Don’t know his race of kindred.*_

 

Haedrian’s shoulders slumped at his friend’s success of stating the obvious, but also unhelpful, comment. So, he’d have to go another route. As politely as he knew how, he said, “Prince Ragnok, I’m sorry. My training is only just started. I know that you are trying to ask me something important, but I don’t yet have enough training to understand your implication.” There, that was appropriately bland, right?

 

The goblin stared at him for long moments. “You came to Gringotts today with a purpose. What was it?”

 

Words bypassed Haedrian’s brain without permission and tumbled out. “My parents want me to go to Hogwarts to learn more about these wizards. So, I was in Diagon Alley to get supplies…except when I went to pay for the books, the shopkeep said that my currency was wrong.” Haedrian’s eyes blazed temporarily with anger at the remembered accusation, but it was quickly waylaid as he brought out his purse. “Papa gave me gold marks and silver marks, enough for everything Mother and Grandpapa wanted me to find, but then Kaelaski remembered that the wizards are weird and only take coins, but the clerk said the coins were wrong, even though they’re gold and silver and bronze!”

 

The goblin, presented with the dichotomy of a well-trained Blood-male who had acted much older than his apparent age, suddenly speaking a flurry of words without seemingly taking a breath, blinked. “I…see…”

 

It took him a second or two. Then he leaned forward to study the coins that the boy—for that episode had definitely been that of a child—had pushed towards him for study.

 

Goblins were born from dragons—rather like seventh cousins thrice removed—and as anyone knows, dragons loved treasure. The goblin affinity for treasure stemmed from this dragon trait. Just as a dragon could identify any precious metal or stone, and was able to innately find flaws or know its purity, so could goblins. And rather like dragons, goblins loved to get more and more treasure. It’s part of what made them such good bankers.

 

Thus when Director Ragnok analyzed the coins with a critical eye, he knew several things all at once. They were indeed small round coins of gold, silver, and bronze. Each coin was over 90% pure and weighed approximately one ounce each. However, after that, the similarities between them and British Wizarding currency ended. Their relative size was different and the pressed engraving on each side was vastly different, which is probably what the aforementioned clerk had noticed. “Hmmm…”

 

Haedrian was blushing scarlet at his outburst. He hadn’t meant to do that. His mouth had run away from him. “What’s the exchange rate?” he asked hesitantly.

 

Ragnok snorted and leaned back in his leather seat, studying the boy. On one claw, this boy was a human wizard and wizards were not trusted. A goblin did not offer advice of any sort to a wizard. On the other claw, the boy’s connections made him more Blood than wizard and Blood followed the Old Ways of Honor, Protection, Servitude, and Wrath. He was obviously being trained in those ways, though allowanced must be made for his age. “May I inquire as to your companions? Or rather, your lack of companions?”

 

Green eyes ducked under black bangs before he looked up again. He pointed to the space above his head where suddenly there was a LARGE white tiger grinning large pointed teeth at him. “I’m not alone, if that’s what you mean. This is Kaelaski. He’s my best friend.”

 

The           Jewel hanging from the gold chain around the tiger’s neck promised Ragnok death. The teeth and claws were practically an afterthought, even if they were noticed first. It took all of Ragnok’s years and training not to twitch. “Your parents?” he asked instead, though his eyes didn’t leave the threat hovering in midair.

 

“Oh, you mean why don’t I have an adult with me? Well, Papa was going to come with me, but something happened right before it was time to leave. Since I wanted to go, and Mom had given me a list of things to look for, and Kaelaski was going with me, Papa decided that it was safe enough for me to come without him.” Haedrian clarified. Then he muttered, “Though Uncle Lucivar is probably following from the rooftops…”

 

“I see.” Ragnok again had the distinct impression that he was speaking to both a child and an adult with how the boy’s sentences would be so formal before running off with him with typical childish enthusiasm. “Gringotts could exchange your coins for the local currency if you wish, but it would have to be off of the purity of the metal itself. I will bring back Guardrock to assist you in that endeavor.”

 

He paused, thinking. “Prince Angelline…” The eleven-year-old’s back straightened at the formal address, making the goblin mentally catalogue and approve of the change. Yes, the boy did have some training; it was just incomplete. “I will speak plainly…or as plainly as an old goblin like myself is capable.” He showed his teeth in a goblin smile, which most wizards would flinch upon seeing. Ragnok wasn’t surprised to observe that the child did neither. With such a companion, seeing teeth longer than his little finger must be commonplace.  “There is a spell upon our doors which reads an individual’s identity. There are many reasons for this; including those trying to access accounts not their own, and those attempting not to be noticed, to name a couple. The spell upon our doors identified you as Warlord Prince Haedrian Angelline _and_ as the Heir Apparent Harrison James Potter. Since you have said nothing of it as of yet, I must ask: are you aware of your wizarding heritage and the implications therein?”

 

Haedrian blinked and blinked again at the goblin, trying to take in all the words. “Ummm…no?” he finally answered, but it was also phrased as a question.

 

“You mentioned an uncle that was likely unobtrusively accompanying you. Perhaps this would be better spoken of in such company.”

 

_*Uncle Lucivar? Are you…around…somewhere…?*_ As a Blood Opal, Haedrian didn’t have the depth of power needed to isolate his uncle’s Ebon-Gray Jewel. However, since none of the wizards seemed to understand about psychic communication threads, the chances that only Blood would pick up the spear thread Haedrian had cast out broadly were almost a certainty.

 

_*You in trouble already, little hellcat?*_ The immediate response was amused, with an air of prepared predatory anticipation. Lucivar had followed at a discrete enough distance that only Haedrian’s knowledge of his uncle’s character allowed him the guess of his presence. Much like Kaelaski, Lucivar used sight-shields to predatory advantage.

 

_*I’m in the big bank building, talking to their director. -- Goblins are actually cousins to the dragons! – But he says that an adult should be here for the next part. Something about my having a wizard inheritance…?*_

_*I’m already on my way.*_

 

Haedrian nodded. He mentally refocused to look at the goblin. “Uncle Lucivar is on his way. He’s Eyrian.” He thought to warn the banker, though he wasn’t sure that the goblin would understand what that meant.

 

“I will alert my guards.” Ragnok got up and left the office without another word.

 

Haedrian looked woefully at his uncle when the bare-chested man walked through the door. “I just wanted to buy some books.”

 

Lucivar snorted back laughter. “Only you, Hellcat.” He stayed standing since his large black wings weren’t conducive to traditional seating arrangements, arms loose by his sides, ready for a fight. Lucivar was always ready for a fight.

 

“I don’t think the goblins are used to Eyrians.”

 

“They’ll learn.”


	6. Diagon Alley - pt 2

**Diagon Alley – pt 2**

 

“Lucivar Yaslana, here for a meeting with the director.”

 

Goblins were a war-like society. They recognized and understood a threat when they saw one. Every goblin that saw Lucivar recognized the way his body moved with feline grace. Power and skill locked within skin, held back by iron control. Once they saw his Red Jewel proudly displayed, they gave the goblin equivalent of a choked swallow or paled, bowed slightly in respect of a fellow warrior, and got out of his way.

 

Lucivar noticed but didn’t outwardly acknowledge any of it other than a slight incline of his head in return for the bows. He also noticed every entrance, exit, corridor, and obstacle. His Eyrian-warrior’s mind cataloguing every weapon in sight; both the obvious and the unobtrusive. He noted the customers and guards on duty and each of their approximate skill level. Noted how long it would take him to go through all of them with lethal and non-lethal force.

 

All this he took in a glance before proceeding to follow the little goblin that hurried before him, taking him to his nephew. When the black-haired boy looked at him sheepishly, Lucivar held back the grin. “I just wanted to buy some books.”

 

“Only you, Hellcat.” He smiled at his nephew. It was quite typical of _any_ shopping trip with either his sister, Jaenelle—who, thank the Darkness, had lost some of her energy as she aged!—into any bookshop or musicshop. Lucivar figured that he only missed such expressions and utterances from his father and oldest brothers because he hadn’t yet been old enough to understand any sentiments uttered.

 

Though, to be fair, it was usually the shop _keepers_ who had that expression.

 

Lucivar Yaslana just stood at the goblin desk. Eyrians learned quickly that there were not many places built to accommodate those with wings, especially anything related to transportation, or sitting in particular, and of course, clothes. Thus, standing was the best option.

 

However, to an outside observer who didn’t think of such things, they’d see a man with large dark leathery wings (big enough that they brushed the ground when he walked if he wasn’t attentive), a darker stoic expression on his face. Arms seemingly casually crossed over a bare chest that was in the peak of health and physical excellence. One could conclude that he was either showing off or extremely intimidating by nature.

 

Haedrian bit his lip from his chair as he pondered his uncle. “I don’t think goblins are used to Eyrians.” He had noticed the lack of accommodating chair for his uncle’s wings too.

 

Lucivar snorted, “They’ll learn.” He’d be happy to disabuse them of any preconceived notion they might have. He’d been dealing with prejudice, bigotry, and bullying (among other things) his entire life. He knew how to handle himself.

 

Two goblins came into the office, neither of whom were the director. Still Haedrian recognized and quickly used his training, “Lord Guardrock, may I introduce Prince Lucivar Yaslana. Uncle, this is Lord Guardrock.” He peeked at his uncle to be sure that he did it correctly.

 

However, his uncle had never been one for formalities, so he simply gave a short nod of approval without clarification. Lucivar would leave that for his brother and father. “Haedrian said he needed an adult.” He raised an eyebrow at them.

 

Guardrock looked slightly ill. Though it was difficult to tell, given that neither Blood-male had spent much time around the other species. “I am here to exchange Prince Angelline’s currency. Director Ragnok is gathering the goblin in charge of the Potter vaults and will join us shortly.”

 

Lucivar stepped back and waved a hand dismissively. “Exchange away.”

 

Haedrian knew how much Lucivar hated paperwork, but also knew that it was part of his education to be able to talk to bankers. So he asked, “What’s the exchange rate? Could you explain it please?”

 

Guardrock looked much easier at dealing with the boy instead of the warrior and nodded. “The wizards use a system of gold, silver, and bronze coins they have named Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Seventeen Sickles is one Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts is one sickle.”

 

Haedrian did some quick mental-math. “Then that’s four hundred ninety-three Knuts to one Galleon. Right?”

 

“Correct. Unfortunately, we here at Gringotts do not understand your form of currency, as we have lost touch with the other Realms since the Thousand Years War. As such, we will buy your coins for the current form of currency, using the metal inherent to the coin.” He picked up one of Haedrian’s gold coins that he had poured on the desk earlier. “Ironjaw will help me calculate the exact purity of your coins.”

 

The other goblin nodded, placed a form of apparatus on the desk. Haedrian thought resembled one of his mother’s scales for weighing Healer ingredients. Actually, when the goblin placed a single one of his gold coins on one side of the scales, he corrected himself that is was almost exactly like one of his mother’s scales. The only apparent difference he could see was that it worked on colors instead of little weights one put on the other side.

 

Ironjaw finally finished his work and nodded to Guardrock. “91.67% pure gold.”

 

“For efficiency, would the young Prince only like to sell his gold?”

 

“Yes.” Lucivar interrupted. Anything to make this meeting go faster! He was patient when it mattered. This wasn’t any form of killing floor.

 

“Very well. The current wizarding price of gold would make this piece 39 Galleons, 3 Sickles, 27 Knuts per ounce.” Guardrock nodded as he dictated, then looked at Haedrian. “How many of your coins would you like to sell?”

 

The boy looked at his uncle, eyes asking for help.

 

Lucivar acquiesced. He wasn’t good with paperwork, but in his mind was a wealth of knowledge. Eyrian history was almost entirely oral. Only in the last few years had stories begun to be transcribed. “Assume that however many…Galleons that bookshop wanted is average. Increase by 10% for posterity spending in the other shops. Multiply by how many shops Jaenelle and Saetan wanted you to go through, and add another three shops. That will ensure you have enough for whatever you want in this alley and get it all in one trip.”

 

Haedrian nodded, his expression furrowing as he thought hard. He bit his lip. After a few seconds he huffed, Called in a piece of paper and pen and began to do the sums by hand. “Round to 922…plus 10% is 1014…multiply by…7…7098 Galleons!” He grinned at his paper. Then he looked up at the goblin, blushing slightly. “What was the price of gold again?” He wrote that on his paper and continued his maths. “Divided by…40…”

 

“That’s a lot of rounding, Hellcat.” Lucivar commented idly.

 

“But I’m rounding up, so it’s okay!” the boy chirped back, not taking his eyes off his numbers. “Carry that… So, I want to sell one hundred seventy-eight coins!” He bounced in his seat, excited about his victory.

 

Lucivar’s lips twitched at the exuberance. It was really nice to see the boy so happy. If he was ever able to get his hands on those relatives of his… Lucivar shoved the thought away before he let the urge overwhelm him. “You rounded, Hellcat. While they are counting, find out exactly what you should be getting back.”

 

Haedrian nodded with fresh determination and went back to his sheet. “177 times…” he stalled, frowning as he looked up at the goblin. “Do I need to change the Sickles and Knuts into a decimal first? Or can I just multiply as it is?”

 

Ironjaw grinned a large toothy grin. “Decimal is more accurate.”

 

“How many Sickles and Knuts to the others again?” Haedrian dutifully wrote down the information at the top of his page. Then started his decimal conversion. “27 over 29, plus 3 over 17, plus 39…” He frowned. “That doesn’t look right.”

 

Lucivar leaned over to see his paper. “You’re right.” His number was over 40.

 

“It’s wrong?” the boy looked crushed.

 

“Try again.” This time, his uncle stayed where he was to watch as the black head of hair bent, reading the numbers as they were written. “Right idea, but that’ll make the number smaller.”

 

The goblins were watching this small introduction in how some taught their young with fascination.  

 

“Remember, you’re _converting_ Knuts to Galleons…” Lucivar gently (well, gently for him) led the eleven-year-old towards the correct method. Haedrian perked up at the word he had needed and quickly scrawled different fractions across the paper. “Good. Keep going.” He beamed up at his uncle in thanks before turning back to the sheet. Lucivar leaned back with a smirk; his version of praise.

 

Haedrian still had to puzzle his way through a couple minor mistakes before he figured out the flaw in his logic. Yet, once he found the correct set of fractions, the rest of his notations were made quickly and efficiently. “39.2313?” his tone was questioning, looking up at the other occupants of the room for approval.

 

He grinned happily when they all nodded at him. “Times 177…6943.9401!”

 

“Now convert the decimal back to Sickles and Knuts.”

 

A pause as he did the calculations. “6943 Galleons, 15 Sickles, and 28 Knuts.” He frowned. “But there’s still 0.47 left over… Did I do it wrong?”

 

“No, young Prince. However, there is always ‘left over’. If it was over 0.5, we would round up one Knut. As long as it is below 0.5, we leave the calculation as it is.” Ironjaw said.

 

“Can’t get lower than a bronze piece, Haedrian.” Lucivar commented.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Now, will you like this added to the Potter vaults with a Wizarding card instead of carrying it around?” Ironjaw tried to help. Given how polite (and the intimidating figure of Lucivar) the boy was, as well as interested in banking, he thought he would suggest something easier to carry.

 

Lucivar looked at the goblin. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Potter vaults.”

 

It was the _way_ he said it that made the other pale slightly. “Perhaps I should just go inform Ragnok that we’re done here…”

 

“Yeah, why don’t you do that.” It wasn’t a question and the two goblins hastily left the office.

 

Lucivar watched them leave before quietly asking his nephew, “Your relatives weren’t the Potters.” It was stated as a given, when really he was confirming his mental holding of information was accurate.

 

Haedrian shook his head in confusion. “They were the Dursleys…but Dumblebeard called me that. And it’s on my letter.”

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

“We’ll finish discussing this at home. For now, concentrate on finishing your shopping.” Lucivar instructed over an hour later as the pair walked out of Gringotts.

 

Haedrian still looked dumbstruck and more than a little lost, but at the reminder of his pile of books waiting for him, he brightened and took off running down the street.

 

Lucivar chuckled under his breath at his nephew’s antics, but dutifully followed at a distance. Kaelaski was already sight-shielded yet again and following much more closely to the boy, so the Eyrian’s presence wasn’t as necessary as it would have been otherwise.

 

He pulled up a sight-shield, then launched himself into the sky with powerful pumps of his large wings. A bit of Craft to help along, and it wasn’t long before he was settling himself on a roof to watch the Alley below. Keeping an eye out for trouble and his nephew.

 

He watched as Haedrian stomped out of the shop with childish rancor. He wondered what had occurred that put such an attitude on his normally mild-mannered nephew. However, since there hadn’t been a call for help and the anger appeared hot in nature—rather than the much more dangerous cold rage—Lucivar only observed. Ready if needed, but giving the child a small taste of independence.

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

Haedrian didn’t think much of Scribbulus Writing Instruments. They were supposedly the best stationary shop in Diagon Alley, at least according to Prince Severus. But Haedrian had better at home, so he skipped the store. “They still use quills!” he muttered in astonishment. Really, who couldn’t afford a fountain pen these days? Even the landens used them! (Those that had that type of work anyway.)

 

He’d just go to one of the shops in Amdarh for a few student’s notebooks. Much more practical. Really, they wanted him to use _rolled parchment?_ Only the oldest documents in the Keep were rolled parchment and Geoffrey guarded them like gold!

 

On that thought, Haedrian bought a set of rolled parchment as a gift for the Keep’s Historian/Librarian as a Winsol gift. Quite happy with his purchase, Haedrian bounced down the alley. “Okay, what’s next?” he looked at his list. Prince Severus had made notes on Haedrian’s list of needed supplies, recommending which shops to patronize to obtain them. Flourish and Blotts had been noted, but Haedrian shook his head. He’d find another shop to get books. A shop with polite and respectful owners!

 

He looked around the district, seeing all the different signs and suddenly just wanted to go home. Where he could go into any store and instantly be given the service expected, regardless of his name or station. (He did understand that being the Lady and the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan’s son gave him extra-special attention, but he also knew that those shopkeepers were just as amenable and respectful of any customers that walked through their door. Papa had explained it was because the owners knew that politeness earned more return business.)

 

He had pewter cauldrons at home. Though he did go to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary to get potions ingredients. He also carefully followed Prince Snape’s instructions to buy twice as much of certain ingredients and to get separate items instead of the displayed ‘Student Potion Kit’ that was apparently only mediocre supplies contained. At least the shopkeeper was polite and didn’t argue when Haedrian told him to just tie everything together. Though the man’s eyes had widened in shock when Haedrian had Vanished his purchases.

 

As he exited the apothecary, he saw a door with an almost hidden sign: Terror Tours. It reminded him of the spooky house that his mother and aunt had set up and all the horrors that had occurred in the _other_ spooky house that Jarvis Jenkle had created to punish the SaDiablo family. He still had nightmares. With those memories swimming around, he created a second Opal skin-tight shield around himself, on top of the first that Uncle Lucivar had hammered into his head, hand loose at his side in readiness for his Eyrian war blade if needed, and walked inside.

 

However, instead of seeing what Grandma Tersa called ‘little surprises’, he saw large posters of towns and landscapes. He frowned in confusion.

 

“Can I help you, young sir?” A polite female voice called. A woman with brown hair and kind blue eyes smiled at him.

 

“I wondered what this shop was, so I came in.” He explained. “The sign…”

 

She smiled wider. “It is a bit misleading, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “Father thinks its funny. We’re a travel agency. We create international portkeys for various countries or even specific cities.” She handed him a brochure that explained the different destinations possible and for what price. “There’s some packages listed on the back for extended stays or with sight-seeing tourist-y things in mind.”

 

“Oh.” Haedrian had no idea what a ‘portkey’ was, but nodded anyway. He Vanished the brochure—earning him another shocked look. Really, was such basic Craft that unusual? “Thank you for the information. I’ll be sure to give it to my parents.” Second guessing himself that perhaps he should have just put the pamphlet with his school list, Haedrian left.

 

“No problem,” she said softly, watching him go. How had he done wandless magic?

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

Second Hand Bookshop the sign read. Haedrian resisted the urge to glare at it. He shifted his glare to the air above him when he heard the Arcerian chuffing version of laughter. Understandably wary, he strode inside.

 

“Ah! Don’t usually get many young ones these days.” An older male with grayed hair at his temples said from behind a counter. “Looking for anything in particular?”

 

Haedrian nodded. “I went to Flourish and Blotts and…  Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what they did.”

 

“Rude, aren’t they?” The man nodded his understanding instantly. “Getting’ too big for their britches, if’n ya ask me. They expect everyone to shop there so they don’t bother with the service part of customers. Personally, I find that a very nearsighted viewpoint.” He came around the counter and offered a grin of welcome. “Name’s Malcolm.”

 

Haedrian grinned back, hesitantly hopeful this bookseller would be more willing to accommodate his needs. “Haedrian Angelline.”

 

“Nice to meet’cha Haedrian. Now, what were ya’ wantin’ to get? I’ve got all the main texts for your schoolin’ of course. What year would ya’ be in? First? Second?” Malcolm had eyed the boy with a single glance to gauge age and moved to a particular shelf where he kept such titles that were usually bought together.

 

“First,” Haedrian confirmed. “But…”

 

Malcolm stopped his stacking of the assumed required texts and turned to give the eleven-year-old a curious look. “Somethin’ wrong?”

 

_*Go on, Kitten.*_ Kaelaski mentally nudged his charge, providing both encouragement and support.

 

“My family just learned about this re—world,” he’d almost said ‘Realm’ but changed soon enough he didn’t think the man was suspicious. “I was trying to get lots of books about lots of subjects to help…” he trailed off again, not knowing quite how to word his request. He shifted on his feet nervously. Looking at all the wonderful books—despite being in various stages of use, they were all obviously cared for and maintained—that were just waiting for a new owner.

 

“Did your parents have any specific subjects in mind? I’d be more th’n happy to recommend some titles.”

 

“Well…” Haedrian finally gave a huff of defeated annoyance. “I tried to buy one of everything I could get my hands on in the other bookshop but they wouldn’t take my coins, and while I was getting them exchanged at your bank, they put my order back on the shelves, and when I went back they said that I couldn’t possibly have so much money on me and stop wasting their time!” He was still quite angry and his voice had risen with his temper.

 

Malcolm Reynolds blinked at the outburst, his mind absorbing the information. “Well now…” he rubbed his chin, trying to figure out how honest this young man truly appeared. His eyes danced across the tailor-fit clothes of fine quality, even if it was an odd cut in design, and smiled. “One of everything you said?”

 

Haedrian nodded sharply. “Mother wanted at least three copies of all the school textbooks and references.” One set for the family library, one set for Jaenelle to write her notes inside, and one set for Haedrian.

 

“Hmmm… It’ll take me awhile to pack so much up for you. You come back in about five hours or so and I’ll have it tallied and ready for you.” Malcolm smiled at the astonished expression on the child’s face.

 

“Would you like my advice?” he added and continued when the boy slowly nodded. “Take that time to go to Twilfitt and Tatting’s. Ask for Catherine and she’ll set you right up with your school robes. Then Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. They’ll have trunks and telescopes from your school list as well as various other things that you might find useful; I’d look beyond the student trunks they will have on display too.”

 

“Thanks,” Haedrian said with feeling. The crush of all these strangers and different city—different everything—was really starting to grate on his instincts.

 

“Not a problem. Run along now. I’ll see ya’ in a bit.”

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

“Malcolm Reynolds told me to ask for Catherine,” Haedrian announced to the woman straightening bolts of fabric on one of the many shelves lining the walls.

 

She turned to smile at him in greeting. “Mal sent you? You must be special then. I’m Catherine. What do you need, honey?”

 

“School robes.”

 

Catherine nodded, “For Hogwarts?”

 

“There’s other schools?”

 

She laughed softly as she nodded. “Not in Britain, but yes. There are more than a dozen world-wide I think. I’ve got a few customers that go to different academies.” She held up a picture that showed him what the standard uniform were for those schools. “The blue one is for Beauxbatons. It’s warmer in France than Hogwarts, hence the more flowing cut and breathable fabric design. This one is a heavier lay and fabric due to the cold weather they get much of the year in Bulgaria. Salem Academy is this one. See how they are a bit between the other two?”

 

Haedrian had some knowledge on clothes, thanks to his father and grandfather. He nodded as he peered at them in delight at the new information. Perhaps that travel agency could help him? Or rather, the books that Lord Reynolds was wrapping for him would have such information, right? Then he could go to the travel agency to maybe get there. After talking to his parents of course… 

 

He pointed to the fourth picture. “This design is for colder weather than Salem’s but not as cold as the Bulgarian.”

 

“Good eye,” she praised. “Hogwarts is located in Scotland, where it does snow quite a bit in the winter, but the late summer can get warm. In general, I actually recommend two sets of clothes for each school: a winter set and a summer set.”

 

He nodded his understanding and agreement. “What are the exact requirements for Hogwarts? How much can we alter them?”

 

Catherine grinned brightly at him, a dose of delighted mischief in her eyes. This was going to be fun! “Hogwarts insists on a flat-black for any over-robe and a clear area on the right breast, where the House crest will go once you’re sorted, but there are still many things we can do to tailor them to your needs…”

 

Haedrian paid careful attention to what the woman indicated was possible, chimed in with his preferences and they created a design they were both happy with and would be acceptable. Then came measuring him—in all sorts of places, to the point in which he was close to calling out to his uncle to see if this was normal. The fact that the measuring tape was doing all the measuring on its own as it hovered around was a bit un-nerving since he could plainly see Catherine’s back was turned as she focused on other tasks to help her complete his order.

 

In the end, he walked out of Twilfitt and Tattings with one black pointed hat, five over-robes (two summer, two winter, and one for relaxing), one heavy winter cloak, two sets of gloves (warm winter gloves and a dragonhide set as the list specified) and one set of dragonhide boots.

 

All of which included what Catherine called Charms. She listed many, but Haedrian lost her before she’d said half a dozen words. She noticed his eyes glazing over and laughed softly, then wrote him a list. “You can look them up in your course books when you get a chance. Now, when is the school uniform required dress?” she prompted.

 

“Full uniform for feasts, especially the Sorting Feast, which is the first of the year, the Yule Feast during mid-winter break, and the Leaving Feast at the end of the year. Black over-robes are required for all classes.” He recited dutifully. “Full uniform includes the black over-robe and the pointed hat.” He wrinkled his nose at the hat. It looked ridiculous. What was the point? (No pun intended.) With a general shield spell being Basic Craft, it couldn’t be to keep off the rain.

 

“And if anyone questions you on your clothes?”

 

“Article 137, page 86 in the school handbook.”

 

“Very good!” Catherine nodded. “Malcolm will have copies of both the student handbook and Hogwarts: A History in his shop.” She bundled up the order and cheerfully added, “If you give me your address, I’ll be happy to send them home by owl.”

 

Haedrian shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” He Vanished the clothes. “Thanks so much for all the help!” He bit his lip, looking at the time. “Catherine? Malcolm said that I needed a trunk. Is that required? A specific design, like the uniform?”

 

Catherine blinked herself out of her shock at the use of such advanced wandless magic. “Trunks are recommended because it’s where you’ll keep all your clothes and supplies, but they are not required to be any specific type of design.”

 

He frowned, but nodded his acceptance. At least this way he could use his own trunk. But it did bring to mind why the school wouldn’t have closets or dressers to hold students’ clothes. You’d think, given that they were expected to spend over nine months in Hogwarts, that such basic accoutrements would be available.

 

“Just the wand left then,” he muttered. As much fun as he’d had with Catherine, he was ready to go back home.

 

“All set, young sir!” Malcolm called brightly when he saw the boy enter his shop again. The shelves were noticeably empty. “If you don’t have a magical relative to un-shrink these, then I’d be happy to owl-deliver them.”

 

Haedrian shook his head. He should ask Prince Severus about this un-shrinking spell that all the shopkeepers seemed to expect. Instead, it was just easier to Vanish the items. He blinked at the abundance of trunks that were apparently containing his order. He needed to delve into his Opal Jewel in order to hold so much. “What do I owe you?”

 

Malcolm didn’t appear to be shocked—the first that wasn’t—at the display of power. Instead he was still rather cheerful. Though, given that he had probably just made his yearly income in one go, Haedrian didn’t blame him for it. ““You just about took my entire stock! All told, 824 Galleons, 12 Sickles, and 3 Knuts.”

 

The black-haired boy tilted his head to the side as he thought about the first statement. “And if I wanted your entire stock?” The quote was actually lower than what Flourish and Blotts had wanted, and Haedrian would bet that he was getting more books too!

 

The teller laughed and pulled out a trunk he had kept hidden behind his counter. “Thought you might say that. Entire stock is 893 Galleons, 5 Sickles, and 19 Knuts.”

 

Haedrian nodded and began to carefully count out stacks of ten gold Galleons each. It took some time to get 900 Galleons from his bag. He deliberately didn’t wait for change as he bowed slightly to the owner. “Your kindness is appreciated,” he intoned.

 

“Come again any time, young sir!”

 

Haedrian walked away. He could feel the stress the abundance of packages (mostly the books) were having on his mind and called out. _*Uncle Lucivar? Think I’m ready to go home now.*_

_*Did you forget anything?*_ came the immediate reply.

 

_*If I did, we can come back. Right?*_ He knew his voice sounded more than a bit whiny and winced. _*I’m sorry, uncle. I’m really tired and all these strangers…*_

_*It’s alright boyo. You’ve done more than enough for this trip.*_ Lucivar back-winged into the Alley—making more than one person give a small scream of fear at the unexpected arrival—to meet up with his nephew. “You both ready?”

 

_*Yes Lucivar.*_ Kaelaski answered.

 

“Alright. Hold on to me.” When the pair were settled against the Eyrian, Lucivar pulled all three onto the Ebon-gray web and began to travel back to Ebon Askavi.

 

+++HP+++BJT+++HP+++

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a math teacher, I couldn't help putting in all the conversion stuff.   
> Next chapter: Back to Kaeleer!


	7. A Brief History Lesson

** Blood Sings to Blood **

****

**Chapter 06: A Brief History of the Realms**

+++HP++BJT++HP+++

**(The night Hogwarts group first came to Kaeleer)**

**Kaeleer**

 

Jaenelle had already made several decisions regarding the visitors. Decision 1: if her new First Circle Escort/Guard (also known as the currently passed out Severus Snape) was going to be able to attend his duties properly, he would have to have fast-and-thorough lessons in Protocol. Saetan was the best choice.

 

She’d have to think of a good way to give poor Severus the basic information he needed as fast as possible. Protocol was studied throughout the Blood’s childhood, into adulthood. Severus had a lot of catching up to do. Perhaps something in the Hourglass’s Craft would work…?

 

She’d tell them both in the morning.

 

For now, she needed some questions answered.

 

+++++

 

The Keep. Ebon Askavi. The Black Mountain. The Lair of Witch. The Seat of the Blood in all the Realms. Containing all of the records for all the Realms. Usually, only historians or those seeking sanctuary came to the Keep. Its dark power repelled most.

 

To Jaenelle Angelline, it was home. She was Witch. Dreams made flesh. A living creation spun from hundreds of thousands of dreamers from dozens of races, Blood and kindred alike. She was Witch unlike any other before her (because there had been Witches before her; other living dreams spun from dreamers). She had been a wish of the land as much as she had been a dream of the peoples. She had been in the process of dreaming for tens of thousands of years.

 

Jaenelle knew all this. She was the daughter of Saetan’s soul, destined to love his mirror, guarded by the brother.

 

She was also spun from dreams of Draca and Lorn, the creators of the Blood races. The kindred, all kindred, had dreamed so very fiercely and in a purer form than the humanoid races. Which is why in her true form, Jaenelle sported soft white-blonde fur, dainty hooves, a small unicorn horn in the middle of her forehead, and the claws of a cat.

 

Able to wield all the Jewels upon her Birthright Ceremony, along with 13 Black Jewels. She hadn’t understood, at seven years of age, just how extraordinary…how different…she was from those around her. She had been able to travel the Realms with an ease that frightened even Saetan. To her eyes, given knowledge from dozens of races for tens of thousands of years, the realms were connected in ways others couldn’t see. She could see connections they didn’t comprehend. She’d understood the intricate dance of Protocol from her first breath and followed the Old Ways more closely than even Saetan knew.

 

As she had grown older, she had learned how…freakish…her view of the realms, of Craft, of Blood, made her seem to others. The consequences of her so-called ‘sick’ nature being ‘treated’ in Briarwood had been devastating to more than one Territory in the end.

 

“Lady?” Draca asked quizzically. The prime Blood matriarch had been playing at being the Keep’s Seneschal for time immemorial.

 

Jaenelle jerked her thoughts away from her own past. Now was not the time. “Draca, is…” she trailed off in her question.

 

The truth was that when little Haedrian’s scream into the Darkness had drawn her, she had always meant to ask the Seneschal this question, but first came healing Haedrian, then dealing with Hekatah and Dorothea. Then healing herself. By the time she had been in a position to ask, it had seemed irrelevant.

 

Now however, the occasion again reminded her of a long-thought question. For Jaenelle had the dreams of tens of thousands in creation. Had the memories and wishes of hundreds of thousands of dreams. Yet… “Draca, has a Realm ever been…forgotten?” She couldn’t think of a better word at the moment.

 

She felt as the dragon stiffened minutely, then gave a great heaving sigh of resignation. “More than one, Lady.”

 

Jaenelle’s eyes widened. _More_ than one? “What…?”

 

Draca held up a hand to stop her. “Come. Thisss iss not a disscusssion to be had here,” her sibilant voice said with a hard edge.

 

Usually, even Draca and Lorn deferred to Jaenelle’s wisdom and edicts. In this, Jaenelle felt that this was not a topic she could move either dragon. So she fell silent and followed the Seneschal.

 

+++++

 

In a chamber deep underneath the Black Mountain was a dragon so large that, if he had so wished, he could have easily chomped on ten men with one bite. Just Lorn’s head was visible in the atrium, for that was the only part of him that would fit inside the large cave antechamber of the Dark Court.

 

His scales, as small as her palm to as large as her body itself, were iridescent. As if in a single scale could dwell any Jewel’s strength or rank for male or female Blood. Which was true. The Jewels of the Blood in all Realms came from Lorn’s scales. Jewels were the focus and reservoir of power for the Blood. Much Craft would be impossible without them.

 

“Sshe assksss of the Lossst Realmsss.” Draca’s voice hissed loudly through the darkness, echoing slightly.

 

Lorn opened his large eyes, as big as Jaenelle’s head, and shifted to look at both women. His psychic scent telegraphed to Witch just how sad the statement made him. *We knew this day would come, my Queen.*

 

Draca bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. They had both known when Haedrian had been brought to the Keep that it was inevitable.

 

In her movements, she had crossed the room to stand next to Lorn. A single motion placed her hand on his snout, which he nudged gently. The love of the couple was obvious, despite the millennia or their forms. Jaenelle looked closer and noted that the gesture was also conciliatory. Comforting. Her eyes shifted to Draca and it was in that moment of vulnerability that Witch could finally see the intense pain Draca had been hiding. Mother Night! How long had the dragon been holding such agony? “Draca?” she asked with more than a hint of concern.

 

“It isss painful to remember,” the Queen of all Blood intoned. After a brief pause, she said, “If one doesss not learn from the passst, one may live long enough to ssee mistakesss reoccur.”

 

Jaenelle blinked.

 

*The Keep was created in part to hold the history of all the Blood races. To learn from past mistakes.* Lorn’s deep voice explained.

 

_The Keep was created…?_ What a phrase! Jaenelle knew of Draca and Lorn. They had been very intense dreamers…but whatever this was, it had been kept from even her.

 

Saetan SaDiablo was a Guardian, one of the living dead. He had seen over fifty thousand years. Geoffrey was also a Guardian, the Keep’s historian/librarian, and was so old that even he had forgotten his age. (He’d actually said that he’d lost count several times, which was a bit mind-boggling if one thought about it long enough.) Yet Draca and Lorn were even older. Older than Blood society itself. (Obviously, since the pair had founded the Blood races.)

 

“How long?” Witch asked, settling herself on her Dark Throne to watch the couple.

 

*Far beyond counting. Not even Geoffrey was alive when these events began the first time.* Lorn began his tale. Draca was silent, letting him comfort her through the memories. Her failure.

 

*You know the beginning of the story. The land needed caretakers. We dragons were dying out, myself and my Queen the only ones left. After weaving a tangled web, my Queen finally found a solution: dispensing our power to the lesser races. She shed her scales willingly as she flew through the sky one last time in every Realm, bestowing power upon all those that felt their touch.* Jaenelle nodded; she knew this part.

 

*Thus the Blood were created to be caretakers for the land.* Lorn continued. *In every Realm…of which there were five.*

 

Jaenelle sat a little straighter in her throne at the admission. She also heard Draca give a small moan of pain. If the cave hadn’t been designed to enhance and echo even the tiniest sound, Jaenelle doubted she would have heard.

 

*I have often wondered if, once, there were even more. So many things in Blood and Craft come in 13. Thus only 5 Realms has always left me speculative.* The great dragon admitted thoughtfully. An absent idea long held in contemplation. *Terrielle. Kaeleer. Hell. Gian. Vhorm. Each with kindred races as well as humanoid that became Blood. Each with unique races found only within themselves. The same layout for each, layered upon each other.*

 

Jaenelle nodded again. To her eyes, the difference between Terrielle, Kaeleer, and Hell was as simple as one web of power on top of another. Which is how she ‘jumped’ so easily when she was younger and had yet to learn about the traditional method of travel. She was also one of very few capable of jumping from Terrielle to Hell anywhere. Well…she’d _had_ the power. No longer.

 

*As time passed, Blood society developed with our guidance until we felt we could step back. We were confident they could continue without us. And how will a child fully develop wisdom under their parents’ eyes?

 

*We were content to become a legend. Only interacting with the odd Blood male or female that stumbled upon us. Until we began to feel uneasy.* Lorn blinked at Jaenelle. *We didn’t realize what we felt until it had gone so far that it could no longer be fixed. When the cry cut off so abruptly we knew it only in its absence.* He fell silent. His psychic scent full of regret.

 

“The land had been ssscreaming,” Draca said.

 

Witch’s mouth dropped open for a moment before she closed it, closed her eyes at even the _idea_ of such an atrocity. They’d had no reference point for understanding the sensation. It made a terrible logic that made her sick to her stomach. The Blood were created to guard and protect the land. And the land had been _screaming_ …

 

*We left immediately to investigate. It took several days to discover the entire events that led up to such devastation. So many days to find survivors to glean what had occurred in our absence.* Lorn sighed. *Hekatah is not the first to have high ambitions and dark enough power to manipulate herself into a position to control others, even though it is not in a Priestess’s nature to control or feel the land. The first…I will not speak her name.

 

*She was an Ebon-gray Healer and Black Widow. She rose fast and manipulated her way into key positions. Within a single generation, she had control of the entire Realm of Vhorm.

 

*As those that were able fled through the Gates to the nearest Realm, Gian, so too came the taint of her ideas and machinations. However, Gian was much like Kaeleer. It held fast to the Old Ways of the Blood and refused to bow to her power.* Such a heavy weighted silence.

 

“There wasss war,” Draca picked up the story as Lorn seemed unwilling to continue.

 

War between the Realms? That was what had almost happened five years ago. Jaenelle had weaved her own tangled web and saw only a single way for her loved ones to survive. Witch had willingly descended to her deepest depth of her most pure strength…and unleashed it all at once in one massive wave, cleansing all three Realms of the taint of Hekatah and Dorothea. That strike had almost cost Jaenelle her life. It had taken her a full year to recover.

 

She had no regrets. She would’ve done it again in a heartbeat to save her family.

 

*The killing field didn’t stay in one place and it didn’t stop with the Blood or the Courts. The entire land was coated with the blood of the tainted and un-tainted alike. Such devastation! In the end, there were no survivors. Or rather, no Blood survivors. When the ruling Blood of Vhorm had been wiped out, the Gian Courts tried to take over and re-teach the values they prized. The landens, fearing more oppression, began to fight them. Another war began.*

 

Jaenelle was just listening at this point. She was hearing a mixture of the events of recent past, but in such a terrible outcome. The landen had risen in some Terriellean Territories when the Courts had been purged by her strike of power. The majority of the remaining Blood had managed to quell the landens and regained their power. Dhemlan Terrielle and Hayll, seat of Dorothea’s and Hekatah’s power, had been cleansed so completely of Blood that none were left to care for the land.

 

*When we arrived, Vhorm was soaked in the blood of hundreds of thousands. The few that remained were scattered, having fled the field of battle. There were no Blood left. The land had been screaming and had only fallen silent when it had no more strength. That had been our initial unease. We realized too late. When we arrived, the land of Vhorm was depleted, desolate.

 

*Gian was better, but not by much. The land still held a few Blood. Enough to guide and protect what was left. However, they wanted nothing to do with any other Realm. No more trade or politics. They unanimously requested to be cut off completely from all other Realms.

 

*We agreed.* Lorn said simply. Jaenelle could sense the story was almost at an end. *We removed the knowledge of how to light the candles to open the Gates to either Gian or Vhorm. Both Realms became a legend that then faded from all memory or record. Not long afterward, we decided to build the Keep in every Realm. A stronghold of knowledge and history. A reservoir of power, should it ever again be needed.*

 

“Never again will we withdraw completely,” Draca re-swore an age-unknown oath. _Never again._

 

Jaenelle was silent as the story finished and she dwelt in her own thoughts. Then, “In which Realm was Haedrian born?”

 

*Based on how much power you used to reach him, Vhorm is most likely.*

 

There were more questions that came from the story, but Jaenelle thought she was done for now. She needed time to contemplate the implications of this hidden past. The air grew still, except for the slight wind created by Lorn’s massive lungs, as she stared into the darkness around her, pondering what could—and should—be done.

 

+++HP++BJT++HP+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to who can guess the last Realm!


	8. Snape for Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape gets around to breakfast with the SaDiablos and then gets a chat with Saetan.

** Blood Sings to Blood **

****

**Chapter 07: Snape For Breakfast**

 

+++HP++BJT++HP+++

 

**(Next morning: the day before Haedrian, Kaelaski, and Lucivar go to Diagon Alley)**

**(Also known as the morning after the Hogwarts group first met Daemon & Jaenelle)**

**SaDiablo Hall**

**Dhemlan Kaeleer**

 

Severus Snape let out a groan of pain. The loud drummer in his head was having a party. It took him opening his eyes and seeing the obvious aristocratically prepared guest room’s neutral colors that reminded him of what had occurred the night before. Though at the same time, he wondered what had happened at all.

 

As much as he knew that woman was _his_ in a way he couldn’t describe or explain, he also acknowledged that the only thing he knew about her was her name and that she was Daemon Sadi’s wife. She held Severus though. She held him in her hands and he would do _anything_ she asked without question.

 

Which was quite terrifying if he dwelled upon it too long.

 

Time to find breakfast!

 

He groaned again as he righted himself. And perhaps a headache soother.

 

+++HP++BJT++HP+++

 

It seemed that either his countenance or the servants in SaDiablo Hall were extraordinarily efficient. Every time he came to an intersection there was a servant to wordlessly point him the direction he wanted to go.

 

He’d found a Hangover Reliever in one of his various pockets, but it seemed that whatever he had drunk to get hungover was more powerful than the Reliever was able to take care of. Thus, while his headache had decreased, it certainly hadn’t vanished.

 

Severus made a mental note to get a sample of whatever he had drunk to be able to analyze and then brew a better hangover all-cure. He’d definitely make some Galleons on such a patent…

 

His head turned as a jingle of bells began to make it to his ears, quickly approaching. He blinked in surprise as around the corner came what initially appeared to be twenty bouncing puppies with a black-haired green-eyed boy hot on their heels. The entire group had been running full-tilt until, seeing him in the corridor, they all instantly attempted to halt their mad rush. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word.

 

Snape coughed a ‘humph!’ noise as he collapsed under the weight of boy and dogs crashing into him. Being the receiver of such a collision, he was naturally on the bottom of said pile and the breath knocked from his lungs upon impact. Hence the noise.

 

“Sweet Darkness, I’m sorry!” The boy rushed to his feet, pulling Snape’s hand while he was getting there—which was a bit faster than Severus was able to follow, what with trying to re-establish air in his lungs. “I’m sorry! The boyos and I were playing and we got caught up and forgot to scan for people ahead of us and then you were there and we tried to stop, I promise! But you were there and then we couldn’t and then—” he finished helping Severus upright, his words tripping over themselves. “Are you okay? Did you hit anything really hard? Mother can take a look at you if you did!”

 

Severus internally acknowledged that it was the wind knocked out of him that prevented him from replying. It had nothing to do with the boy’s bright green eyes staring at him with such intense concern. Nothing at all.

 

However, the boy—who could only be Lily’s son with that particular shade of green eyes—mistook his silence as an admittance of both injury and pain. The concern deepened and the boy was suddenly dragging Severus off down the hall, puppies yapping and bouncing around them. “Mother is the best Healer. She’ll be able to tell what’s wrong and fix it. I’m so sorry! Father’s told me a hundred times not to run in the halls.” He confessed in a guilty rush. “I’ll be doing extra chores tonight for sure. Not that I don’t think it’s deserved! We shouldn’t have been running and then to run into you like that. Here, Mother’s room is just down here.”

 

Upon closer inspection, there were in fact only seven puppies bouncing around. Severus also noticed that two puppies were bouncing ahead of the small pack, heading straight for one large dark-brown door in particular (where they seemed to be headed) as if to announce them, or let whomever was inside know that they were about to receive company.

 

The dark-brown door opened to reveal the woman from the night before.

 

Severus’ knees weakened again at the sight of her and he desperately clutched the wall to keep himself upright.

 

Black hair bounced with the puppies in a unique pattern that Severus suddenly found intensely interesting. “Mother! We were running in the halls trying to catch the rabbit that got out of the kitchens and we accidently crashed into the Prince and he won’t talk and I think he’s hurt!”

 

Sapphire eyes focused on Severus intently for a moment or two. “Escort him to the sitting room and let him catch his breath, Haedrian.”

 

“Yes, Mother.” Lily’s son nodded dutifully, pulling Snape through the door as the woman disappeared behind a door further inside the suite of rooms. The boy went to a side table and poured a small amount of liquid into a teacup. It seemed that with the unspoken testament to Severus’ health, the boy became even more guilty and bashful, judging by the red that came to his cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered yet again.

 

Severus tilted his head to the side as he regained the use of his lungs, studying the figure. Strong features that were slightly aristocratic. Wisps of black locks framed his face. Strong shoulders and a healthy, strong body hidden behind well-cut tailored clothes of fine cloth. Clothes that Lucius and Draco would be hard pressed to find fault with other than their obvious function: outside play and/or chores. Severus was surprised to see that there were no glasses as he had expected from James’ child, but more surprised was the lack of a scar. The implications of that lack would drive Albus around the bend with speculations, no doubt.

 

His attention was jerked downward when one puppy in particular suddenly bounced into his lap, gazing up at Severus with big bright golden eyes. A happy grin, complete with lolling tongue, greeted the Potions Professor. It was a border collie; primarily gray with small sporadic golden brown patches, perhaps 3-4 months old. Young enough to have boundless energy and old enough to have enough mass to push recalcitrant critters as it learned its herding skills.

 

“Oh dear.”

 

Severus snapped up his head to stare at Jaenelle as she rejoined them in a more comfortable day gown.

 

She had a hand to her mouth, trying in vain to hide a large smile. “Yes, I suppose you have.”

 

He frowned in confusion at the statement, because she seemed to have directed it _to the dog._ “Lady?” His thoughts paused at the natural label that came to his lips. It seemed right to address her as such. She was his, and he was hers. Unnatural. Yet his entire being pulled him to her. There was no sexual component either. Just…a rightness.

 

“I’m afraid his training has just begun, little sister.” She again addressed the puppy on his chest. Jaenelle’s smile was wide as she looked at her son. “Breakfast should be interesting.”

 

“Isn’t it always?” Haedrian asked with innocent confusion.

 

“Some are more interesting than others,” she acknowledged. She finally peered at Snape directly, studying him. Though he sensed that it was his health she was determining. She nodded finally and gestured. “Prince Severus, you should be on my left—the subordinate position.” She said in a tone that the Hogwarts professor instantly recognized as a gentle lecture. He’d heard Pomona use the exact same tone and lilt in the greenhouses with the first and second years.  “Now, you are the eldest and are Second Circle, so you should be in front. However, you are also still currently a guest and don’t know your way around yet. Haedrian, as the highest rank and caste other than I, will be leading the way.”

 

“Yes, Lady.” Haedrian acknowledged and gave a formal bow to his mother before turning to do as instructed.

 

Jaenelle smiled at Severus for several moments until, with a surge of understanding, Severus offered his arm for her to hold. Her smile widened, lightly balancing her arm across his own parallel to the floor instead of in the crook of his elbow as he’d expected. His being on the left was also outside his experience.

 

Through his studies and the seemingly never-ending Malfoy fetes, Severus knew how to conduct himself in aristocratic circles. The movements that he observed now were very similar to those. Yet there was enough difference that he knew it would take some time to learn this society’s version.

 

He hated to be uncertain. When in doubt, he kept his mouth shut. Usually. Occasionally. In this case, he didn’t want to sound like an idiot to his Lady. He wanted that smile back. So, he stayed silent and followed the herd.

 

The puppies bounced around them in a herd. Though Severus noticed that ‘his’ gray one stayed relatively close to him as they made the journey.

 

Jaenelle noticed his silence of course and proceeded to fill it. “Mostly, breakfast and lunch are informal family affairs, but since you are learning, you may escort me. Any one of the family will be happy to answer any questions you’ll have, but I think it best for Papa to do the majority of your training. He’ll understand the odd circumstances—we all do of course—and be able to react accordingly. He’s had lots of experience with the boyos of course. He’s mostly retired from the living realms, so you’ll have to go to him most of the time. The Keep is wonderful and will be perfect.” She nodded as if having decided something.

 

Severus wondered who ‘Papa’ was and which Keep she could be referring. They’d had to travel to this Kaeleer via phoenix! The Lady couldn’t possibly be referring to the Scottish Keeps…could she?

 

Once they were through into to the dining room, Jaenelle went off to the side of the long table, plopping herself down next to the already present Daemon Sadi. She kissed her husband’s cheek absently as she stretched to grab a carafe of steaming brown liquid. Minerva and Albus were also present, seated on the other side of the table across from Sadi.

 

“Good morning, witch-child,” a soothing baritone from an older version of Daemon. Gray hair caressed his temples. He was a bit narrower in the shoulders from his son, but other than that, they were practically identical in appearance. However, the darkness seeping from every pore of Daemon was absent in the sire.

 

“Morning Papa,” Jaenelle answered easily. She grinned devilishly over at Severus and the Potions Professor swallowed nervously. “Prince Severus made a new friend.”

 

“Oh?” Golden eyes focused on his daughter before peering at Severus, then at the floor. “Ah. I see.”

 

“Sage was quite sad that he wasn’t properly trained,” Jaenelle said as she filled her plate.

 

“Indeed,” came the non-committal reply.

 

“I think he’d be best with you, Papa. Either here or at the Keep.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“Well, he is a teacher at this Hogwarts school. Thus, a week before their new term seems adequate for a good beginning.” She nodded apparently to herself. “He’ll at least need to know enough not to set off any tempers.”

 

Snape’s eyes had been bouncing between his Lady and her father at this verbal tennis. A ball of dread was forming in his stomach at this reckless _deciding_ of his immediate future. However, he already knew that he would willingly walk over broken glass for his Lady. This wasn’t nearly as bad. He didn’t think.

 

“Sage can help him when he’s at Hogwarts. And Haedrian too, though that might not be the best idea.” She finished eating an omelet as she twirled her fork in the air.

 

The others at the table froze momentarily at her last instruction. Two instantly relaxed again in a lazy manner that set Snape’s instincts into overdrive. Minerva and Albus were both eager, happy with the news.

 

“I’m going to Hogwarts?” Haedrian asked.

 

Jaenelle sobered and nodded. “At least for this first year. I would’ve left the decision to you, but I wove a tangled web yesterday.”

 

“He’s _not_ going alone,” Sadi practically purred the words.

 

“He’s allowed to bring an owl, a toad, or a cat.” Minerva said.

 

“Or perhaps one of you would like to accompany him? We could find a position at Hogwarts for you. Assistant Librarian, perhaps.” Dumbledore added. He couldn’t let his pawn escape!

 

Saetan SaDiablo’s lips quirked upward in amusement. He was the Assistant Historian/Librarian to the Keep. Being the Assistant Librarian to Hogwarts would be amusing. It would also give him direct access to their historic accounts and records, presumably. He could research how this realm was forgotten/lost in the interim. It would give Haedrian a ready support structure as well. He was the most expendable, having retired from the living realms, and the most easily able to be go gallivanting off towards parts unknown on behalf of his Queen. Most especially, he would be able to control Haedrian and deal with any threats that came. As well as continue to instruct the new escort. “I accept.”

 

“Kaelaski would be perfect!” Jaenelle directed in answer to Minerva’s comment.

 

Daemon relaxed further into his seat at the news that his father, the High Lord of Hell, and an Arcerian, no matter how young, would be accompanying his son to the new school. “You will write every week,” he ordered.

 

Haedrian nodded, looking a bit stunned. This was certainly unexpected. But his Queen had spoken and he knew better than to go against her word. Especially when his Papa and Grandpapa were in the room!

 

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++

 

Dumbledore had requested that he be present for this first session between Saetan SaDiablo and Severus Snape. He was told that he was welcome by Jaenelle before either male could protest, which apparently decided the matter for all three.

 

Saetan sat in a high-backed chair while Severus reclined stiffly upon a cushioned sofa. He handed the Potions Professor two thin books. “These are books on Protocol. You’ll need to study them extensively in order to know how a proper Court functions and how to comport yourself in a variety of situations. You are to be a Second Circle Escort. You should read them with that in mind.”

 

Severus nodded. Then asked softly, “Protocol? Court? Circle?” Part of him wanted to be his usual gruff self, but knowing that this man was the father of his Lady held his tongue in check.

 

Saetan nodded in return. “Protocol is the intricate dance of Jewel rank and caste among the Blood. A Court is a group that governs a set portion of land. A Court helps to maintain the balance between landen—the non-Blood—and the land itself. As Blood, this is our function and role. We nurture and keep the land. A Court is made up of one or more Circles; those dedicated to the healthy function of the Court. The minimum for each Circle is twelve males of any caste.” He poured a glass of thick red liquid and began to heat it with a small tongue of black fire.

 

Severus’ eyes widened at the display. He leaned forward. “How did you do that?”

 

Saetan chuckled, but it was more with dismay and sadness than the guests would know. “All Blood can do basic Craft. It is part of what makes us Blood. Jeweled Blood can do more advanced Craft. The more potent their power, the more advanced or powerful their Craft. What I just performed would be considered basic Craft. I Called in the glass from my personal store and am heating it over witch-fire. The only advanced portion is that, as my Birthright Jewel is the Red, my personal storage is much larger than that of the lighter Jewels.”

 

Saetan took back one of the books that lay momentarily forgotten on a side-table, turned to a specific page in the very beginning and pointed. “Not all Blood have Jewels, just as not all Blood have a specific caste. This is a list of all the…common…Jewels.” His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Our Queen has two Jewels not on this list, but she is the exception. An explanation would be more than you are able to absorb for the moment.”

 

Severus nodded as he read. Each section went into more detail than he had the ability to read at the moment. Thus, he focused on the lists in particular.

 

Jewel Ranks: White, Yellow, Tiger Eye, Rose, Summer-sky, Purple Dusk, Opal, Green, Sapphire, Red, Gray, Ebon-gray, Black.

 

Female Castes: Landen, Blood female, witch, Healer, Priestess, Black Widow, Queen.

 

Male Castes: Landen, Blood male, Warlord, Prince, Warlord Prince.

 

There were several notations on what each caste meant in terms of occupation and equivalency. There was a notation for a Blood Opal, as well as how two ceremonies could increase one’s Jewel strength if done properly.

 

His mind hovered on the caste ‘queen’. Yes, that term fit his Lady perfectly.

 

After a moment of contemplation, he asked, “Is this why Daemon called me ‘prince’?”

 

Saetan gave a sigh even as he nodded. “Your caste is Prince, Severus. Just as his caste is Warlord,” he gestured to Albus. “I am a Warlord Prince, as is Daemon and Haedrian.” He drank to give himself time to think of what to say. “Somehow, you and your companions are Blood, but none of you have displayed any knowledge of Protocol nor Jewels. Your bond with your last Lady was broken so utterly for so long that it pre-empted your instant bond with Jaenelle. This is partly why I agreed to an assistant librarian. I want access to your histories to try to piece together this puzzle.

 

“Part of your training will be to sense the telepathic presence of those around you to determine caste. Jewels of rank are usually prominently displayed,” Saetan raised his hand to emphasize the Red Jewel in a ring, “as there is no way to always psychically tell power. With a great deal of practice one can usually determine the Jewels of those below your rank. Any above your Jewel rank will be as blank a void as a non-Jeweled Blood.”

 

Snape took this all in. Or attempted to. “Albus is a…Warlord.” It was a statement, but the lilt at the end indicated a question.

 

Saetan took it as one. “Don’t confuse caste with position, rank, or occupation. Just because you outrank him does not mean that your occupation overshadows his own. Protocol is an intricate dance of who is dominant given the situation and the rank and caste of those present. It is a constantly changing dynamic. Very rarely are there static cases. One of the few is that all children—those who have yet to undergo the Birthright Ceremony—and all minors are subordinate to any adults present. However, even this is case-by-case; varying with each child and strict adherence to Protocol will increase as they age and mature.”

 

The High Lord of Hell gestured. “You, for example, will be treated as a child for these first few months, despite your age. This is to ensure you _survive_ your training.” He took a drink. “You’ll find that what foibles you enact will be swiftly corrected. Any missteps the females of the Court allow, will _not_ be accepted by the males. However, we all understand your unique entrance to our society and will correct you accordingly. It will be expressly evident when your skills and knowledge allow you full range.

 

“My acceptance of the position at Hogwarts serves multiple purposes. I will continue your training in both Protocol and Craft as well as my grandson’s. I will also be able to be a…buffer between Haedrian and the staff and students at this school.”

 

Albus made a noise of protest from his spot in the corner. “That won’t be necess—”

 

“I assure you it is most necessary,” Saetan interrupted the Headmaster. “Haedrian took to Protocol easily and with grace. Only his age prevents him from going further, not his maturity. An entire school full of non-Jeweled Blood, none of whom have any idea about Protocol, will grate nerves. Haedrian, however, will not have my centuries of experience in which to control himself.” He folded his hands into a prayer-like position and lay his forefingers against his chin. “I expect that there will be several occasions when Haedrian will react as any Blood male, which will be decidedly contrary to your society’s cultural ethics.”

 

There was a long silence. “Such as?”

 

Saetan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had occasion to observe a variety of children. Landen children tend to behave the worst. They poke fun. Tease and torment others. Including those younger than themselves with boys towards females being particular for this discussion.”

 

Albus acknowledged the jab. “Children will be children.”

 

“I see.” Saetan sighed. “Haedrian’s reaction towards anyone tormenting another will be swift and possibly violent. As a Warlord Prince, it is in his very nature to protect those lesser than himself. As a Blood male Warlord Prince of the SaDiablo line, we who follow the Old Ways, Haedrian has been trained to rise to the killing edge only to protect those he perceives as ‘his’. However, as I have said, he is young.”

 

“Killing edge?” Albus questioned sharply, focusing on that phrase.

 

The High Lord grabbed two volumes, identical to those he had given Snape, and passed them to the Headmaster. “It is difficult to describe to one who isn’t a Warlord Prince. The description in that text says ‘violently passionate to follow Blood law’.”

 

“What is Blood law?” Severus tried to refocus the intense stare on something more mundane. The apparent slight Albus made had been noticed, registered, and ignored. But Severus thought it only ignored because of their complete ignorance. Otherwise, the glint in Saetan’s eye told that he was violently passionate to defend his grandson.

 

“The first law is to honor, cherish, and protect. The second is to serve. The third is to obey. Other than that, a Queen’s word is law inside her territory. Her Court will enforce that law.”

 

“And without a Court?”

 

“A Queen’s power comes from her Court. Without a Court, she holds no more power than any other Blood female. Though a Queen without a Court is…odd. Not unknown, especially for the very young or very old, but odd. Your colleague is one of these and I think it is simply because your culture has forgotten all things Blood.” Saetan answered.

 

“Minerva is a Queen?”

 

A nod. “What is her occupation within the school?”

 

“She’s the Deputy Headmistress.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“She handles disputes between the faculty. Handles the majority of the inter-school paperwork. Determines adequate punishments for transgressions. In all, she ensures the school runs as smoothly as possible,” Albus explained.

 

Saetan did his finger-to-chin thoughtful pose again. “Hmmm… In terms of Blood society, she has been performing the function of a queen, with her territory being that of the school. Interesting.” He pointed to Albus. “What are your duties as Headmaster?”

 

Said Headmaster sputtered indignantly. “I handle any disputes that Minerva cannot. Mostly I deal with extra-school politics and paperwork. Ensuring that we are compliant with current Ministry guidelines. Handling any monetary issues. Etcetera.”

 

Saetan nodded as he absorbed this information. With a tap of his finger against his chin, he rose. “I think this is a good time to break. Prince, your assignment is to read the texts. We will have another discussion once you have completed reading the basic text.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Again, Severus had a large instinct that yelled not to annoy this man. That and it would upset his Lady if he did so. She had directed him to learn Protocol from Saetan and that is what Severus would do.

 

Saetan gave a genuine smile for the first time. “The correct form of address is ‘Lord’, ‘Prince’, or ‘Steward’, as I am the Steward of the Dark Court in which you find yourself.”

 

Snape frowned. “I thought I was a Prince and you were a Warlord Prince.”

 

Saetan chuckled. “Indeed. When in doubt, ‘Lord’ is universal for all Blood males. ‘Prince’ can be used for any Prince or Warlord Prince. ‘Lady’ for any Blood females, regardless of caste or rank.”

 

“With such intricacy to Protocol, why so few forms of address?” he asked curiously.

 

“It is back to our inherent ability to psychically determine true caste. The ability to do so negates the need for more terms of address in which to indicate such.” Saetan gestured towards the correct direction. “Which is why it will be one of your first lessons as an escort.”

 

Saetan stopped him before he went much farther. “Oh, and prince? You will not be allowed to go beyond the Hall until I’m satisfied you can comport yourself properly. This is for your own safety.”

 

“Would strangers react so violently towards him?” Dumbledore asked, aghast at the suggestion.

 

“The very label ‘stranger’ would instantly increase suspicion and any male temper would sharpen. After that is recognized, which I assure you would not take longer than a second, even for the children, his first mistake in Protocol would be his last.” Saetan stated simply, bowed shallowly in a gesture of acknowledgement only, then made his way back down the hall in the opposite direction.

 

Dumbledore stared in shocked muted horror. “Poor little Harry…” he murmured under his breath. In what kind of world did the tiny infant he had once held grow into? What world would attack a visitor simply for a faux pas?

 

“Other than barreling down corridors, his manners are excellent. He acknowledges his mistakes, gives apologies as needed. I have no doubt he can hold his own against Draco.” Severus answered the unasked commentary he knew was going through the Headmaster’s mind. “He is healthy and fit. No need for glasses nor does he showcase a scar on his forehead.”

 

Albus’ eyes widened, then narrowed as thoughts swirled around in rapid arrays. Plans within plans needed to be tweaked a little. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow, “You have no objections to the boy?”

 

“Of course I have objections. He will be coming into our world for which he is not equipped; even more so than a muggle-born! I’ve edited his list so that he can find supplies a bit easier.” Snape bit back. He had spent a portion of his morning adding such details of what to buy and where in Diagon Alley so that Lily’s son would have at least a small leg up. “I can start his introduction to the Wizarding World here while I’m getting my own lessons.”

 

“You are…staying here?”

 

“My Lady…” how good to say aloud! “…commands and I obey.”

 

“ _Your lady_? Severus, really. What happened to you last night?”

 

Snape sighed. “Suffice to say that my priorities have been reordered. I’m not sure how to describe it, Albus.” He paused and could only think of the words in the book he held. “She is my Queen and I honor, cherish, and obey.”

 

Albus’ eyes narrowed before he straightened and nodded. “Perhaps its for the best. You can get acquainted here. I’ll be leaving for Hogwarts shortly. I presume that Minerva will go with me. Will you be alright by yourself?”

 

Snape snorted derisively, giving the comment all the answer it deserved.

 

“Very well. Good luck, my boy.” He needed to contact Nicholas as soon as possible to get the stone to Hogwarts. Plans needed to be adjusted.

 

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been awhile. Work gets in the way.  
> A lot of this chapter is to help the HP fans understand BJT a bit more. Otherwise, its establishing plot points for later.


	9. Of Trains and Hats

** Blood Sings to Blood **

**Chapter 09: Of Trains and Hats**

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++

 

As much as Haedrian didn’t want to—thinking the entire experience was a waste of time; seriously, why couldn’t he just ride the Winds to the school?—Severus had been firm. Apparently, it was “traditional” and “a way to meet your fellow students and make friends”. He’d known that his course was set upon the traditional argument. SaDiablos followed the Old Ways, which were traditional.

 

Thus, one found Haedrian upon Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Delivered to the station by Snape via “apparition”. Which Haedrian thought could be another word synonymous with “avoid at all costs”. Really, what was so dreadful about the Winds?

 

“Uncle Sev!” a voice called out.

 

Snape immediately turned to search out the owner, his face brightening slightly with a small smile. “How was your summer, Draco?” He leaned down to give the white-blonde boy a one-armed hug. “Lucius,” he greeted to the other.

 

Haedrian blinked at the reception. Both males that had approached Severus were well-dressed in fine clothes. Definitely aristo, and probably for at least a few generations by the casual bearing of the adult. The boy received his expected hug, then blushingly took a step back to reaffirm correct posture and countenance. Yes, definitely aristo.

 

“I was beginning to worry, Severus. You don’t usually stay silent so long.” Lucius returned the greeting with an arched eyebrow.

 

“Mmmm,” Severus made a non-committal noise. Then he gestured to Haedrian and introduced, “May I present Prince Haedrian Angelline, heir to the SaDiablos. He’ll be joining the first years at Hogwarts. Haedrian, this is my long-time friend Lord Lucius Malfoy, patriarch of the Ancient House of Malfoy, and his heir Draco, my godson.”

 

Lucius didn’t hesitate to respond despite the odd introduction. “How do you do, Prince Angeline?” His mind had already made a mental notations to research the SaDiablo family, including their ties to royalty.

 

“Very well, thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Haedrian said.

 

“You’re a prince?” Draco chimed in surprise.

 

Haedrian shook his head, “Warlord Prince.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“Draco,” Lucius cut in.

 

“Sorry Father.” The blonde boy looked down for a second before firming his spine. “Would you like to share a compartment, Prince Haedrian?”

 

Haedrian shrugged. “Alright.” He really didn’t care either way. He just wanted this particular tradition to be over with already!

 

The two adults watched as their respective charges climbed the train’s steps and began to move down the car to find a place to settle.

 

“So,” Lucius drawled.

 

Severus sighed with a single breath. He’d known this was coming, but hadn’t expected to run into his friend so soon. “It’s been a summer of change, Lucius.”

 

“Oh?”

 

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++

 

“You play Quidditch at all?” Draco asked as soon as they were on the train.

 

“No,” Haedrian shook his head. Severus had explained enough of the basics of the game for him to understand. “Don’t really get the point.” Why use brooms to fly when you could modify airwalking for speed?

 

Draco’s mouth dropped open in shock for a second before snapping it closed. “What do you mean you don’t get the point?”

 

Haedrian shrugged again, glancing up at the compartment’s rigging for baggage. *How’s that for a spot, Kaelaski?* he sent the psychic thread to the cat sight-shielded above him.

 

Haedrian frowned at the shelf, then he spun a strengthening spell through the metal. He’d spent a week that summer on strengthening spells just for this purpose until he could cast one within a second or two if necessary.

 

A huff of air as the cat scoffed, but seemed to deem the metal strong enough. *It’ll do.*

 

Draco took his seeming silence as offense and blushed mildly for a second. He knew how to act, he was just really liked Quidditch! Too bad the other boy didn’t. Searching for a change of topic, he tried again. “Know which House you’ll be in?”  

 

Haedrian refocused on the blond once Kaelaski was settled. “I thought you were already of House Malfoy?”

 

Draco nodded but clarified. “Hogwarts House, I meant. No one really knows until they get there, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. My whole family was in that House.”

 

Oh, Haedrian acknowledged his mistake. Severus had explained the different Houses at Hogwarts, as well as how they would be sorted. He’d have to open his outer barriers to a _hat_. These wizards were really strange. “I don’t know. I doubt Gryffindor though.”

 

Draco smiled at that, congratulating himself on finding a common topic. “Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

 

Haedrian frowned thoughtfully. “According to Prince Snape, Hufflepuff is the House of hardworking and loyalty. Those are good things to have.”

 

_Prince?_ Draco wondered. “Well, yeah, when you put it that way. But they just don’t do much with their lives. Father says it’s the house of rejects. Those that the other houses don’t want get put in Hufflepuff.”

 

Haedrian frowned harder, his hackles rising automatically at the rudeness. Instead of reacting, he tried his grandpapa’s methods. “Have you ever met one?”

 

“One what?” Draco was confused. He understood he’d made another misstep with the other boy, but wasn’t quite sure what it was.

 

“Have you ever met someone who was in Hufflepuff?”

 

Draco opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a snap and shook his head.

 

“Then maybe you should reserve judgement until you _have_ met someone from that house.” Haedrian looked at the blond, trying to make his face neutral but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. This boy was aristo. How could he phrase it so that Draco would understand? Did he want to make the effort?

 

Before he could even attempt to voice his beliefs, the compartment door opened and a brunette boy poked his head inside. “Draco, there you are.”

 

“Hey Blaise. This is Haedrian.”

 

“Hey Haedrian.”

 

Haedrian gave a nod instead of a verbal greeting. The introduction was too informal for his tastes. He didn’t know these people!

 

However, it seemed that with the entrance of Blaise—later introduced as Blaise Zabini—opened the way for others to join them. In no time there was Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Theodore “call me Theo” Nott joined them. All male and approximately the same age.

 

Haedrian fought the urge to pull out his Eyrian blade to make them back off and give him more room. It was getting very crowded!

 

As if in answer to his thoughts, Blaise said, “I don’t think there’s enough room for the girls.”

 

“Oh, I saw them down in the next car,” Theo answered. “They were talking about the latest fashion from Paris and the best color-changing charms that won’t degrade the fabric.”

 

Haedrian’s Warlord Prince mind snapped into sharp focus. “Girls?” There were females out there that these boys knew and they weren’t protecting them?

 

Blaise nodded. “We all grew up together. Our parents are friends or political allies. Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Tracy Davis, and a few others were the female half to our group.”

 

Haedrian’s instincts wound just a bit tighter. These girls were _alone_? And the boys knew and weren’t doing anything?! He got to his feet and glided to the door. He distantly acknowledged that his movements had fallen into a battle-ready smoothness.

 

“Haedrian? Where’re you going?”

 

The Warlord Prince turned to look at Draco, whose eyes widened at whatever he saw there. “To do what you should have.” He left and it wasn’t long before he found a compartment that was packed with just females. It was too crowded to join them, so instead he set down an alarm to alert him if any entered or left.

 

*Kitten?* Kaelaski had, of course, followed him.

 

All these people! *Too much.* He needed to get away.

 

*Wait here.* The invisible cat bounded off to find a place where his friend could calm down. It wasn’t long before a thread came back. *Here! There are only two kits.* A mental image of round-faced boy and a bushy-haired girl.

 

Haedrian followed the thread to its source. He knocked and slid open the door. “May I join you?”

 

“Sure!” the girl smiled at him in welcome, though it was hesitant, wary.

 

The boy was nervous, but nodded also. “I’m Neville.”

 

Did wizards usually introduce themselves with just a first name? “Haedrian.” However, Kaelaski was correct. The decrease in numbers was already soothing his nerves. The fact that a boy was with a girl also a balm.

 

“Hermione Granger,” the girl almost bounced with enthusiasm. So much for only giving first names. “Can you believe that we’re going to a magic school?”

 

Neville shook his head. “I did my first accidental magic a few months ago. Uncle Algie tossed me out a window and I bounced. Got my letter a day later.”

 

Just when he was starting to relax, Haedrian tensed at the admittance. A _relative_ had tried to hurt the other boy?

 

“That’s horrible!” Hermione exclaimed. “Your _uncle_ threw you out a _window_?!”

 

Haedrian looked at the girl more closely, her words mirroring his thoughts. Her front teeth were a bit too big, but Haedrian thought she’d more than likely grow into them. He sent out a psychic tendril. A Tiger Eye witch. Or she would’ve been if she had a Birthright Ceremony.

 

While he was at it, he scented Neville. White Jeweled Warlord at best. However, Haedrian thought it was more that the other boy’s ‘magic’ was a bit…off. It wasn’t the right word, but he couldn’t think of a better one. Almost as if it was pointed in the wrong direction. What did that mean?

 

“Just to see if I had magic,” Neville defended softly.

 

“That’s no excuse! If you hadn’t magic you couldn’t died!”

 

Haedrian nodded. “Did you tell your parents about it?”

 

Neville looked down at his feet. “They’re in St. Mungo’s long-term care ward. I live with my grandmother.”

 

“Did you tell your grandmother?” He assumed that St. Mungo’s was some type of Healer’s building based on the ‘long-term care’ comment.

 

Neville shook his head. “Uncle Algie’s her brother.”

 

The boy was either protecting his grandmother from the knowledge of what her brother had done, or she had been party to the event. Either way, Haedrian’s Warlord Prince nature, already tight from the previous situation, sharpened into resolve.

 

Hermione tried to change the subject. “Have either of you tried any spells yet?”

 

Neville shook his head again, but did gain enough courage to look up. “Have you?”

 

“A couple simple ones. I knew I’d be far behind everyone, so I’ve been reading ahead.” Hermione’s voice lost its excitement and gained a slight bossy tone. “They’ve all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard—I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough!” She spoke it all in a rush of words.

 

Haedrian blinked at the seeming flip of personality.

 

A glance at Neville confirmed the other’s surprise. However, he was able to gather his thoughts enough for a response. “All your course books? I just read my Herbology one.” He smiled bashfully.

 

The smile reminded Haedrian a bit of Kalush; hesitant and shy. Yet Kalush could be very determined and loyal if the occasion called for it. Aaron was her shield, but Kalush was Queen.

 

It was something to remember for Neville.

 

“I haven’t finished many, but I’ve read the first three chapters of all of them,” Haedrian commented. He was thinking of the massive library that he’d acquired from Diagon Alley. Not finished many indeed! He had finished the reference texts that Prince Snape had recommended though. The theory was fascinating. Mostly in how different and similar it was from Craft. Some more than others.

 

“You won’t be behind,” Neville said. “There’s lots of muggle-born that come to Hogwarts. It’s set up to start all first years at about the same level.”

 

“Muggle-born?”

 

“Those born to non-magicals yet have magic themselves. There’s also half-bloods that have a muggle-born as a parent or grandparent. Then pure-bloods who have only witches or wizards for at least two previous generations.” Neville explained. He sounded more confident as he spoke.

 

“Oh how strange.” Hermione frowned. “Does it matter?”

 

Neville grimaced. “Depends on who you talk to. There’s people who think so and get really mean if you disagree. There’s also people who think not and get mean if you disagree.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of a big argument in politics right now.”

 

“What do you think?”

 

He shrugged again. “I’m a pure-blood, but Grandmother thinks it’s more that the family follow the traditions. It’s hard to explain.”

 

“Pleeease?” she whined.

 

Neville grimaced at the tone. “I’ll think about it and see if I can put it into better words.”

 

She had the decency to blush at the unspoken rebuke. “Thanks!” She looked at Haedrian, “What are you?”

 

Haedrian shrugged. “I was adopted, but both sets of my parents are magical. Just different types.”

 

“There’s different types of magic?” It was obvious the girl loved to learn and was more than eager for any type of knowledge.

 

Haedrian nodded. “My grandfather is at Hogwarts as the assistant librarian to see about figuring out the differences between our two cultures and magic.”

 

“How exciting! So you didn’t grow up in England?”

 

He shook his head. “I grew up in SaDiablo Hall in Dhemlan.”

 

Neville and Hermione both blinked at him. “Where is that?”

 

“Kaeleer.”

 

“…”

 

“ _Where?_ ”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t have a map with me.”

 

Hermione frowned in frustration as she obviously wracked her mind trying to find a reference to the location. When she came up with nothing, she refocused. “Why do you sound British?”

 

“My birth family was from here.”

 

“Really?” she perked up again. “And you said they were both witches and wizards? Who were they?”

 

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped when the door once again slid aside to reveal a redheaded boy. “They say that Harry Potter is on the train. Are you him?” the boy demanded.

 

Haedrian’s temper sharpened at the rudeness. Did no one on this train understand proper manners? Of how to approach an absolute stranger without provoking instincts? Or was he just unlucky enough to find the few who didn’t? With a draw on his grandpapa again, “Are you _he_ ,” Haedrian said.

 

“I’m not Harry Potter! Why would I be looking for him if it was me?”

 

“If it was _I_ ,” Haedrian corrected again.

 

It had taken until Haedrian’s second correct but then Hermione’s eyes brightened with humor and she stifled a giggle behind a hand. She also noted almost absently at the frost on the windows that she swore hadn’t been there before. 

 

“What? Are you barmy?”

 

Haedrian tilted his head slightly. “What does ‘barmy’ mean?”

 

Neville coughed, “He’s asking if you’re insane. In this context, it’s an expression of confusion.”

 

“He hasn’t introduced himself. He’s been brash, rude, and now calls me insane. Is that it?”

 

“Basically.”

 

“I see.” Haedrian pulled himself to his feet and faced the redheaded boy whose face was becoming as red as his hair. It wasn’t a good look on him. “I suggest that you either brush off your manners and try again or leave.” His tone had dropped and he idly noted the creeping frost flaring with his temper. Only Hermione’s giggle and Neville’s attempt at diffusing the situation stilled his hand.

 

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” the brashness increased rather than being cowed.

 

Haedrian glared down at him. “I am Prince Haedrian Angeline. Chosen son of the Lady, Jaenelle Angeline, and Daemon Sadi, son of Saetan SaDiablo… _and you are making me angry._ ” The frost had turned to ice and a fine coating fluffed across the nearest surfaces.

 

Kaelaski decided that was a good time to drop his sight-shield and show his fangs to the offending boy. For added measure, he snarled.

 

The redhead’s eyes went from Haedrian to Kaelaski, widened in alarm at the 500 pound cat laying in the metal luggage bin, turned and ran out of the compartment.

 

“Ummm…Haedrian?” Hermione’s voice was shaking with fear. “There’s a really, really big tiger above your head.”

 

With the redhead—still lacking an introduction—fleeing, Haedrian’s temper lessened and the ice thawed as he settled back in his seat. “That’s Kaelaski. He’s my best friend. And he’s not a tiger. He’s Arcerian.” He grinned, trying to dispel both the fear (which did nothing for his temper) and the anger.

 

Neville swallowed but politely intoned, “How do you do, Kaelaski?”

 

The Arcerian preened at the attention. *Very well, young kit.*

 

Neville blinked, as did Hermione. “I heard him in my head!” she said.

 

Haedrian grinned. “That’s wonderful. Prince Snape had to learn how. Mother said it’s easier for children though.”

 

“I don’t mean offense,” Neville hesitantly asked, “but why is Kaelaski here?”

 

Haedrian shrugged, “They said I could bring a cat.”

 

That was all it took. Hermione began to giggle. It wasn’t long before Neville and Haedrian joined her. Though he did make sure to Craft-lock the compartment door. That was enough interruptions for one ride.

 

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++

 

“Haedrian? Where’d Kaelaski go?” Hermione asked curiously as they stepped off the train. Over the last few hours, Hermione had turned into quite the cat-lover, thus none of them were surprised when she noticed first.

 

*I’m still here, kit. I’m above you.* Kaelaski purred softly to prove it. Kaelaski had turned into quite the Hermione-lover. Apparently she gave really good ear scritches.

 

“You’re invisible again. How do you do that?” she whispered to the air.

 

A cat version of a laugh, *It’s called a sight-shield. I will show you later. For now, you must follow the loud one.*

 

“Firs’ years!” A gigantic man bellowed over the sea of children. “Firs’ years follow me!”

 

Haedrian was incredibly tense as they were all herded down a very steep, very narrow, very dark path. His hand twitched every few seconds, wishing for his Eyrian blade. Were these people insane? What if someone fell? What if someone was hiding in the huge trees to either side? It was a perfect ambush spot and it wouldn’t take much to cause a lot of damage, even death.

 

“Are you alright Haedrian?” Neville asked softly in concern.

 

“Yeah, you don’t look so good,” Hermione agreed.

 

“I’ll be better when we get out of here.”

 

*Do not worry, Kitten. I hear only deer and water.* A pause. *Not too much farther. There are boats.* A snort of cat annoyance.

 

Haedrian relaxed slightly, but not all the way. He did smile though. “You can airwalk, Kaelaski.”

 

A huff.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked.

 

“Arceria is up north where there is lots of snow and ice. Water, not so much.” Haedrian smirked. “He knows _how_ to swim, but he doesn’t _like_ to swim.”

 

“Oh,” she giggled. Then she gasped as she got her first look at Hogwarts. “It’s beautiful!” Neville nodded at the vast castle of turrets and towers glittering in the darkness from dozens of windows filled with light. It was picturesque.

 

Haedrian refrained from commenting, not wanting to spoil their mood. To him, it was rather…disappointing. For a castle, it didn’t look that fortified. He saw at least three unguarded entrances easily and he was eleven! Maybe there were wards he couldn’t feel yet?

 

It made him yearn for SaDiablo Hall with its dark aura shrouding protectively over all its inhabitants.

 

“No more’n four to a boat!” The large man called, pointing to the boats that Kaelaski had spotted. “Everyone in?” he shouted from his own boat all to himself. He needed the space. “Right then—FORWARD!”

 

The small fleet of boats moved off in unison, gliding smoothly across the vast lake. All the children stayed silent, gazing at the great castle overhead. They sailed nearer and it seemed to loom over them. Which made sense as Hogwarts was built on a cliff.

 

Haedrian wondered how much power it would take to turn the cliff into powder. As they were getting out of the boats and stepping onto Hogwarts grounds, he finally felt wards flare and lick at the group, testing their intentions before settling down. It made the Warlord Prince feel better about the castle. More protection than was immediately obvious at least.

 

“Everyone here?” The large man raised a huge fist and knocked three times on an even larger oak door, which swung open at once.

 

Lady McGonagall greeted them in emerald-green robes. Her hair was back in its customary severe bun that went with her stern face. However, as her eyes swept over the children, they paused on him and her eyes twinkled a welcome.

 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall.”

 

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide to allow them entrance. The hall was so big you could hit an entire house in it! Well, at least one of the village houses. The walls were lit by torches, of all things, the ceiling so high that it was difficult to see, and a beautiful marble staircase leading to the upper floors.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said the queen. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

 

“The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

 

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can.” Her eyes lingered on the rude redhead’s smudged nose and Neville’s crooked cloak.

 

Haedrian shook his head. He still wasn’t really used to the woman’s forthright attitude, but he preferred it to some of the aristo under-handed snubs. He gestured to Neville’s cloak, which the boy blushed as he pulled it straight. Then shifted his pointed hat to also sit correctly on his head. Haedrian sighed as he did the same. Really, pointy hats? Some traditions were just stupid. You wore hats to keep the rain and sun off your face and neck. Period. Indoors and at night? That was stupidity.

 

“Hermione, would you like help with your hair?” Haedrian offered softly, under his breath, when he saw her trying to pat it down.

 

She turned brown hopeful eyes to him. “Can you?”

 

He nodded and lifted his hand to run it from the top of her head down to her shoulder. As his hand moved, he laid a spell that Helene had taught him for his own hair. He liked his hair ruffled and framing his face, but not as willful as it wanted to be. He did the same for Hermione’s bushy brown locks. When the spell was fully in place, it lay gently across her shoulders. Still in waves, but tamed to more than a degree.

 

Her hug was instant and heartfelt. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

 

He laughed as he grinned, winked. “I’ll teach you. I use the same spell for my hair.”

 

McGonagall waited a couple more minutes as various students hastily straightened hats and clothes, then opened the double doors into the (presumably) Great Hall.

 

It was lit by thousands upon thousands of…candles?...that were floating in midair over five long tables. Four parallel to each other and perpendicular to the fifth, where sat the teachers. The four parallel tables, two to each side of the double doors in which they’d entered, held the other children. Each was decorated in two main colors, all different.

 

Haedrian heard Hermione whisper, “Look at the ceiling! It’s been bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History._ ” At the moment it was pitch black. The candles were so bright that it was impossible to see any stars and the moon wasn’t in the right location to be seen either.

 

“Wonder how they deal with rain,” Haedrian countered.

 

She giggled, starting to get used to his brand of humor. Or what she thought was supposed to be humor.

 

Lady McGonagall was standing by a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool was the hat Prince Snape had told Haedrian about and the boy grimaced. His facial expression didn’t get any better when the wide brim opened like a mouth and began to sing.

 

At least it wasn’t off key.

 

The hat finished its song and the whole hall burst into applause. The hat bowed to each of the four tables filled with children and then became still again.

 

The rude redhead—oh that almost rhymed—whispered loudly enough to be heard by at least half of those present in the first year group. “So, we’ve just got to try on a hat! I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

 

Haedrian stiffened at the threat, eyeing the annoying boy with narrowed eyes. How serious was the redhead?

 

*What’s wrong?* his grandfather’s deep soothing voice brushed across his mind.

 

Haedrian instantly relaxed more than he had the entire ride. That voice had gotten him through very bad times, when no one else had been willing or able to care for him, there had been his grandpapa to sooth his nightmares. *The redhaired boy said he’d kill someone named ‘Fred’.*

 

*Hmmm…* Saetan’s gentle voice soothed his temper again. *I’ve been listening to these children for the last twenty minutes and have heard several threats of the same kind. I’m beginning to think its part of their culture to make unfounded threats that aren’t intended to be taken at face-value.*

 

Haedrian blinked. *I know some people say things they don’t mean…but a threat of murder?*

 

*We cannot judge their society based on only a few undisciplined children, boyo.*

 

*Yes, Grandpapa.* He smiled at the man sitting at the far end of the head table, almost half-hidden by a statue. *How’s the library?*

 

*Extensive for being a school library with a variety of topics. Have you made any friends?*

 

*Neville is the boy who just went to Hufflepuff. Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw. She’s the bushy brunette.* He sent a mental image of each. *I met several that are going into Slytherin. They left girls alone on the train.* His anger came through the thread, which Saetan easily smoothed. *That’s Draco, he’s apparently godson to Prince Severus.*

 

*Hmmm…do you know what I’m wondering?*

 

*What?*

 

*They are going in alphabetical order it seems. So why hasn’t your name been called yet?* Saetan’s tone had gone a shade darker in thought.

 

*Lady McGonagall wouldn’t tell them all that I’m that Potter kid they idolize… Would she?*

 

*Perhaps not upon her own…*

 

“Potter, Harry!” she called. Her eyes were asking his forgiveness.

 

Whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. He grimaced in annoyance, then decided he wasn’t going to move. Especially when he heard some of the whispers.

 

“ _Potter,_ did she say?”

 

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

 

Oh no. He wasn’t. Just no. He was _not_ Harry Potter. *I thought he was told that I wasn’t going to go by that name?* He almost demanded, but held back slightly.

 

His grandfather didn’t comment upon his almost-rudeness. Instead, his voice was also almost a growl. *We did.*

 

McGonagall immediately understood his lack of reaction and gave a slight nod to indicate such. Then she carried on with the rest of the children until he was the only one standing. “Did I skip you?” she asked almost gently.

 

He nodded. “Angeline, Haedrian.”

 

“Of course,” she gestured to the hat.

 

He took a step forward, but was interrupted by the Headmaster getting to his feet. He made a large movement with his arm. “You were born Harry James Potter. You will attend this school under your birth name.”

 

Two Warlord Princes gave Dumbledore flat looks. Anyone who knew either man would have advised the Headmaster to shut up. Snape, the only one capable of such, gave the man a significant glare, which he ignored.

 

Haedrian narrowed his eyes just slightly further. “Harry James Potter died at the hands of his uncle at age seven.” There were sharp gasps and the color drained out of many. “I am Prince Haedrian Angeline.” He glared harder. “Do you wish to deny my lineage, my birthright, my heritage, or my family.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand.

 

“Your parents are James and Lily Potter.”

 

“I am the son of Lady Jaenelle Angeline and Daemon Sadi, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.”

 

“Adopted son.”

 

“My lineage has been recorded in all the Keep Registers.” He took a step back and shook his head as he realized the obvious. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. His tension and anger drained away. He gave the Warlord a genuine smile. “Thank you for the excuse.” He turned and began to walk toward the double doors.

 

*Boyo--*

 

“Wait!” Albus yelled.

 

Haedrian looked back. “If I can’t attend under my name, then I’m going home. Mother will understand.”

 

Albus saw the expression on the boy’s face and realized that this battle had already been fought, and he’d lost. He nodded once. “As you wish my boy.”

 

“Prince Angeline,” Haedrian corrected instantly.

 

Albus said, “You need to be Sorted, Prince Angeline.”

 

Saetan’s mental laugh was proud and approving. *Well played, boyo. You’re learning.*

 

It was only a surprise to those that hadn’t payed attention when Prince Haedrian Angeline went to Slytherin House.

 

+++BJT++HP++BJT+++


End file.
